Don’t hate me. But while you guys were staring at a computer screen, rolling your eyes while conversing on the phone and occasionally glancing at the clock wondering how that hour between 4pm and 5pm has more stretch than a yoga instructor, I was wrapping up my second book for the week and wondering what low-carb snacks I had in the fridge. Well, the in-laws fridge.
Tough week, I thought sarcastically as 5pm ticked over and workers rejoiced the weekend. I tried to catalogue my achievements for the week, but the list looked like a battery hen counting its feathers. I was up before 8am on Wednesday. Did four laps of the ocean pool at Yamba on Monday. I applied for a job on Thursday. Plucked my eyebrows Friday. Didn’t eat too many carbs. Not surprisingly, my working pals gave no high-fives for my weekly triumphs.
It’s been almost four (gasp!) months since I set an alarm with the intention of bringing home some bacon. Yep, four blissful months of travel through Europe, getting an unintentional Aussie summer tan, catching up with family, planning a wedding. We’ve shunted between relatives with a mobility usually displayed by kamikaze kangaroos on a dirt track at dusk.
It’s been thrilling to see my Osprey backpack thrown under an Australian Greyhound. I’ve loved camping at the beach and checking out new spots along the coast. The fishing rods stay in the ute and our swag has been rolled out on fresh dirt and grass. We take the brown signs for the tourist drives, doubling our on-road time and avoiding any activity that resembles the rat race. It’s wonderful to be a tourist in our own backyard.
It makes me wonder if the ease of overseas travel means we overlook the opportunities in our awesome country…
But on the other side of my backpack, I am craving the stability of my own home. I want to dig up a vegie patch, unpack some boxes and find a new running track that I can find excuses to avoid. I want to slow roast tomatoes on a Saturday, find a local coffee shop and fishing spot that the tourists don’t know about. My days of reading on Wednesdays are numbered.
I just hope that when we find a new house we don’t lose the wanderlust.