This City's Made Us Crazy And We Must Get Out
Just three more hours until I'm off on my little holiday. I really, really need it right now. I've been sort of losing it lately - without going into detail the past few months have been pretty difficult and draining. I've been finding myself crying at nothing, and losing my temper when it's totally unjustified. I've heard that a change is as good as a holiday, so I tried parting my hair on the other side, but it didn't help. I knew I needed to get away.
So I've booked to visit a town a few hours up the coast. I can't go far, because I don't have much money, but in this place I've got free food and accomodation, so all I needed to pay for is the train fare. And those nightmarish trips to Sydney aside, I do actually like going places on the train. Hard to believe, from the same parent company that spawned CityRail, but Countrylink is generally pretty good. I can even have beer as I watch the countryside slip past! (I just hope I can last 4 1/2 hours without a cigarette).
Of course, going away meant that last night I had to do that thing I loathe above almost any other: packing. I hate it so much that I contemplated just buying new clothes when I got there, and giving them to charity when I left. However, I feared that I wouldn't be able to buy the kind of clothes I like where I'm going. So, with much malice, I dragged out my carry-all. I hate that thing. It's quite high-quality, black leather finished in suede, but it's like a reverse tardis; it looks huge on the outside (and weighs a tonne) but it actually holds bugger-all. I put a small supply of t-shirts, underwear and some toiletries in there, and still I had to jump on it and swear alot to get it to shut. Or close. Or do whatever luggage does when it isn't open. And then I could barely pick the thing up. Lugging it on and off the train is going to be some fun. I'm also bringing my back pack. It was quite a sight this morning when I dragged my luggage into the hall: my fancy leather hold-all next to my scruffy back pack, which is covered in buttons espousing my left-wing political views and taste in music. The hold all says, "Yes, I am a professional in my late twenties", but the back pack testifies to the sloppy student I still feel like.
Xander put up a great fuss about me going; he could tell I was leaving, and whinged and clung to me like crazy. But I figure it's better that he's alone for a few days and then I come back relaxed and happy, rather than having his Mummy as a psycho hose-beast. Anyway, he'll be well looked after, I've arranged good house-sitting (so if you're planning on breaking in whilst I'm away...don't!)
Me being me, I'm brining my notebooks, sketchbooks and watercolours. There's supposed to be spectacular coastal scenery, as well as good whale sightings. Mostly, though, I'm looking forward to getting away from the office, traffic, noise and crowds...just lying on the beach in the sun (fulfilling a winter-long-held obsession) and puttering around somewhere new. I'm also told that there's an internet cafe in the town, so hopefully I'll be able to bring you a mid-holiday post from my diary. If not...I'll see you when I get back!
So I've booked to visit a town a few hours up the coast. I can't go far, because I don't have much money, but in this place I've got free food and accomodation, so all I needed to pay for is the train fare. And those nightmarish trips to Sydney aside, I do actually like going places on the train. Hard to believe, from the same parent company that spawned CityRail, but Countrylink is generally pretty good. I can even have beer as I watch the countryside slip past! (I just hope I can last 4 1/2 hours without a cigarette).
Of course, going away meant that last night I had to do that thing I loathe above almost any other: packing. I hate it so much that I contemplated just buying new clothes when I got there, and giving them to charity when I left. However, I feared that I wouldn't be able to buy the kind of clothes I like where I'm going. So, with much malice, I dragged out my carry-all. I hate that thing. It's quite high-quality, black leather finished in suede, but it's like a reverse tardis; it looks huge on the outside (and weighs a tonne) but it actually holds bugger-all. I put a small supply of t-shirts, underwear and some toiletries in there, and still I had to jump on it and swear alot to get it to shut. Or close. Or do whatever luggage does when it isn't open. And then I could barely pick the thing up. Lugging it on and off the train is going to be some fun. I'm also bringing my back pack. It was quite a sight this morning when I dragged my luggage into the hall: my fancy leather hold-all next to my scruffy back pack, which is covered in buttons espousing my left-wing political views and taste in music. The hold all says, "Yes, I am a professional in my late twenties", but the back pack testifies to the sloppy student I still feel like.
Xander put up a great fuss about me going; he could tell I was leaving, and whinged and clung to me like crazy. But I figure it's better that he's alone for a few days and then I come back relaxed and happy, rather than having his Mummy as a psycho hose-beast. Anyway, he'll be well looked after, I've arranged good house-sitting (so if you're planning on breaking in whilst I'm away...don't!)
Me being me, I'm brining my notebooks, sketchbooks and watercolours. There's supposed to be spectacular coastal scenery, as well as good whale sightings. Mostly, though, I'm looking forward to getting away from the office, traffic, noise and crowds...just lying on the beach in the sun (fulfilling a winter-long-held obsession) and puttering around somewhere new. I'm also told that there's an internet cafe in the town, so hopefully I'll be able to bring you a mid-holiday post from my diary. If not...I'll see you when I get back!
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