The FIFO Blues

 Never in my imagination did I ever thing I'd be a FIFO. But I am. And for the most part, I enjoy it. 

FIFO you ask. It's an acronym for Fly In, Fly Out. Some say it stands for Fit In or Fuck Off, which has its merits, but it is the former definition. You fly in for work. When you shift is done, you fly out. The only reason I don't look like a FIFO is that I don't have to wear hi-vis clothing or steel capped boots. I'm more a linen pants and flowing top kind of girl, with an assortment of Birkenstocks on my feet. 

And like all things, it's temporary and will come to an end, so I have to make the best of the situation - which I am. I am truly grateful for the experiences this time in the Northern Territory is affording me. 

But it doesn't take away from the face that there are some elements of the FIFO life which leave you a little lonely. 

Tonight, after work, I got home and relaxed a bit. Somehow, I've become invested in this stupid game show, Tipping Point. The questions are easy, the contestants a bit dumb, and they have all of their winnings bound on this machine which tips counters over and edge. It's addictive. 

Yet the relentless travel means I'm missing my friends - and my cat - but he's happy with my friends, lording it over them like he owns the place (how very cat.) There are parties and dinners and events I'm missing out on. It's a little tiresome. 

Of course, there are blessings to be counted. 

I got to 'go home' for lunch today, walking the 50 metres down the road, back to my hotel apartment, where I dined on the salad, eggs and prawns I have in the fridge. 

Being in the centre of the city, and after Tipping Point, I went for a long walk around the Waterfront, taking the long way home, around by the Deckchair Cinema and up the long stairs to Bicentennial Park, stopping in at Subway for some dinner. (Subway do a gluten free wrap - with lots of salad and some chicken, it fits in with the regime perfectly.)

It's Friday night. I've run the dishwasher - a novelty as I don't have one. I've done some knitting. I've finally done my washing - it only took me goes to get a clothes horse sent up to my room. I got toilet paper and J-cloths (chux) before that. Anyway, the clean washing is out on the rack on the balcony. It might be dry by morning. I've trimmed my nails. Some dodgy telly has been watched. 

It's all very pedestrian. 

I'm not in a place to go out and meet people. I'm not here for long enough and I don't have the mental or emotional capacity to put myself out on the apps, whether it be Bumble, Hinge or whatever swipe session it. It's not for me at the moment, particularly when my self-confidence is a little on the low side. 

The weekend will be nice. I'm going with a university friend to see The Choir of Man at a pub on Sunday afternoon. Tomorrow, I'll take myself off for a pedicure, maybe haunt the independent bookshop in the mall, and of course, go for a swim and go for a long walk tomorrow. To stay out of the heat, I might do some work on my novel and do a bit more knitting. Although I'm swamped at work, I refuse to turn on my work computer. That's not something I can do. I have books to read - two that I want to finish. It's not like I'll be bored. 

And next week looks good. There's a film on at the Deckchair Cinema I'd like to see on Monday. We're down for Drag Bingo on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I'll go back to the wave pool for aqua aerobics. Thursday, some friends from Melbourne are up, so we'll go to Mindil Beach Market before I have to get the plane at stupid 'o' clock back to Melbourne. 

Looking at this on paper, life looks sweet. It is in many ways. And I know how lucky I am to have this job and to have the opportunities I've cultivated. 

But it doesn't quite make up for your own bed and your friends at home. 

Today's song: