Naive Psychologist

There’s nothing says ‘the weekend’ like the sound of the washing machine.

And then, as I was forced to explain the highly colloquial expression I had given to me day, it occurred to me that a blue-arsed fly wouldn’t run.

It was a thought of no great importance, but still, I wish I could remember it.

The looming summer dominates our conversations. We are delaying, as long as we can, switching the air conditioners on, knowing that it will be November before we turn them off again. But we are starting to sweat, we are seeking shade whenever we can, we are wearing skirts and short-sleeved shirts. We take deep breaths of each bearable day, savouring them, trying to embed their memory in our flesh. There are so few left.

For all that things are better this year than they were last, I would still rather be at home.

The mister is home from Libya now, and I, having spent my first ever week of running the house single-handedly while holding down a full time job, am feeling not even a twinge of guilt at showing him the weekend schedule and letting him work it out.

I, personally, have no social life, but the boys’ are increasingly active and there has been a lot of tetris-type planning as I work out how to be here by then and there after that, all the while continuing my adjustment to full time work, packing the lunches, keeping myself nice and squeezing in the daily hour of writing that I am determined to maintain no matter what. Oh, and there was the small matter of documents-wrangling, a seemingly interminable part of life in the emirates.

The lads did go to school in damp clothes yesterday morning because I didn’t get them (the clothes, not the lads) on the line until late the night before. But that sometimes happens even when the mister is around and, as I explained, once on your body, damp clothes get dry, but smelly clothes just get smellier. And anyway, a few days before that, I had made a flawless banana cake and we all sat together just before bedtime eating flawless oven-warm banana cake.

The week ended at 8pm last night with me and youngest boy finally home, cuddled on the couch having a movie night, something we’ve never, ever done before. When we came to set it up, I remembered that our television satellite thing doesn’t work, and our DVD player is region 2, and all of our DVDs, except Bolt, are region 4 (don’t ask – especially don’t ask why we’ve got a Bolt DVD). So it was slim-pickings movie night, but movie night nonetheless.

In the light of the morning, I see that I left a wine glass with dregs on the coffee table, he left crumbs on the couch, and we both left pillow dents.

The clicking sound that the blackberry makes as people type really gives me the shits.

Did you know that when you have a job, a full time job, you have to go to it every day.

Today it rained in Abu Dhabi. That was nice.

And then, just when you thought they couldn’t, things got even weirder.

One of the things about working full time outside my house for the first time in many, many years is the renewed sense of pleasure I now take in the weekend. My, but I treasure it. In these parts, Friday is the Holy Day, so we have Friday and Saturday as the weekend and go back to work on Sunday. Which takes care of the whole Monday blues things quite nicely.

Yesterday, I wasted far too much time faffing about on the internet. But last night was good as we went to Al Ain to the birthday party of some friends we made when we went to Fujeirah. I should show you those photos of Fujeirah, shouldn’t I? I think you’d like them.

I’m determined not to waste today. Not only because this is the last day of the weekend, but because the weather is most definitely heating up, and it won’t be long before we’re all inside again.

The mister has gone off to Dubai to take part in an Important Meeting (I guess it will involve powerpoint and spreadsheets), but I intend to:
– waste time on the internet (done)
– decide which Mall is most likely to have an Ominitrix, visit said Mall, catch breath at hideous price of Omnitrix, consider saying, ‘no, you can’t have it’, then rememeber that it was totally promised and I have to;
– have trip to the Mall delayed by ten minutes while youngest lad gels his hair;
– fit in a bit of work on either my second novel or essay collection;
– go to the gym for step class (fitness level decreasing and weight increasing as a direct result of returning to work, because going to work not only involves sitting at a desk all day but also accepting the many offers of chocolate and cookies which come my way during the day – it would be rude to say no);
– stumble on step (I am not at all coordinated)
– intervene in soccer disputes;
– intervene in disputes over lego ownership;
– intervene in arguments over who is looking at who;
– mess around in the kitchen with youngest lad, making muffins and so on for the week’s lunchboxes;
– decide what to have for tea, realise that there’s no food in the fridge, make scrambled eggs, lacing my own with smoked salmon to make me feel like I’ve served up something approximating a real meal;
– check the strawberry plants;
– hopefully get in a few more rows on the right front of the cotton top I started a year ago and now just really want to see the back of (though I’ve finished the back, so could see that, but you know what I mean).

Best be off then.

PS Do you know what I really hate? Australian politicians who weasle their way into the death penalty ‘debate’ all-the-while proclaiming they’ve ‘always been against the death penalty’. I think I preferred it when Tony Abbott was talking about his sex life. (And, Mike Rann, even though I can’t vote in the upcoming election, I remember when you did it too, appalling behaviour).