As with most team meetings at the end of the week, the discussion ends up on what you're doing for the weekend. My lovely team, all partnered up, some with younger children, others with kids who are nearly adults, had a list of activities which included kid's sports, ditch digging (which seems to be a bit of a running in joke) and a few other partner inclusive things.
Then it came my turn to divulge.
"Well," I said, "I feel like a bit of a wanker. An arts wanker. I'm off to a movie tonight, the film of a favourite book. Then, tomorrow, I've got my book group barbeque out Yarraville way. On Sunday, as they're turning off the power for maintenance works from 7 am to 5 pm, I'm going to take my laptop and ride the new train line to see what the stations look like, then I'm going to write in the library for a while, seeing that the power is off."
I felt like a complete arts wanker.
And sure, working from the library gives me a chance to use their electricity, charge up some power banks, not open the fridge and enjoy the Redmond Barry Reading Room's glacial air conditioning and do some novelling, as well as giving some extra quiet time - something a day with my book group didn't provide the day before (made a bit worse by leaving my meds at home).
Sunday was the day to catch up on some much needed me time. I can't use the iron, the washing machine, the blender, nor can I use the hoover or binge watch anything as the internet and wifi are down. All I have is my phone, and I can't be asked to hot spot the telly onto it, not that the telly would work either - no electricity. And I'm not watching Netflix on the phone over mobile data.
So, a day riding the trains, sitting in the State Library doing some writing after a bit of a sleep in sounded great.
But I still felt like a bit of a wanker. It's a day all about me. I don't have a partner to integrate into my life. No kids whose beck and call I'd be at. Other than playing with the cat for a bit, I'm not beholden to anybody.
I mentioned to one of my colleagues after the meeting that there's something that's unsettling about being a spinster, filling up your time with cultural personal pursuits. There are factions that find it pointless, or selfish. Maybe it's those long-held beliefs that you were raised with that you're somehow supposed to be partnered up and flexing your domestic goddess talents, rather than pumping iron at the gym.
My colleague's reaction to my statement.
"Have you any idea how utterly perfect your weekend sounds. I've no read a book in months. I can't remember the last film I went to see. That you can go and do something you love for an afternoon with nobody demanding your time - how utterly perfect. Do you want to swap?"
And sure, they live in another state, their kids well into their teens. I spent part of yesterday with Blarney's boys helping them draft up their first resumes, which is a bit harder than you think, but we've got them looking like well-rounded individuals, looking for work. (They were bemused that I was saying, "Let's look what AI says - now let's take it and make it sound less wanky and more like you. They were also aghast when I told them that I normally charge $100 an hour for this service - each.) I got my kid quotient in for the week.
"It's a case of greener grass. Think of me as you're doing exactly what you want, when you want to."
This is me doing that.
I'm sitting in the Redmond Barry Reading Room. The air conditioning is a blessing. There's a half drunk bottle of Coke Zero in front of me. My phone and power banks are being charged - saying that, the electricity should be on when I get home. My earplugs are in, lowering the drone of the library to a whisper. The haiku topic has been set. (Today's prompt: Bamboozle - my haiki "I just can't get it / American Politics / I don't understand)
Okay, I get it. Life is good.
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