I’m not in the schoolhouse. I’m pretending to be because I wish I was. I’m in the Hobart library instead. Because it’s Monday and not Tuesday and the schoolhouse is unavailable and I’m really meant to be home washing windows or some such – which is what I usually do on chorey old Mondays (I tried to wash the windows yesterday and they looked fabulous until the sun came up the morning and revealed hideous smeary swashes which could – thinks I as I scrabble for an excuse not to do the god damn job again – be mistaken for wonderful window art using the media of light, water and grime. Bream Creek grime is especially hard to come by. My windows may well be gone by the time I get home, snatched up by a passing MONA curator).

Anyway, I have spent the two weeks of holidays mostly doing chores so today, having dropped the children off at school (insert fist pump emoji), and gone to an early appointment in town, I’m having a DAY OFF. I have already been for a walk around Hobart (looking drop dead eye-wateringly gorgeous today with her crystal-ice sheen), eaten an apple, had a coffee and had a quick look in a book shop (I think Anna Funder’s new novella, The Girl with the Dogs, may well change my life, it’s not in store yet though so I had to have a sneak around the literature bits in case there’s something there I’ve read which will make me feel literary and brainy).

Now I’m in the library because I needed an inspiring place to write a list and maybe a novel but of course I’ve had to have a bit of a look at Mick Fanning escape that shark (Holy God – the suspense of that wave that blocks our view) and a skulk in the stacks (there is something so scholarly about skulking in the stacks) and a bit of a ramble here. I am very parenthesis heavy today, perhaps it’s due to all the alone time and trying to get too many thoughts in order in the short time before I have to go back to school and start work again (could also be the coffee). I’ll try to relax.

There is an elderly tweedy man nearby who is whispering intensely into a dictaphone and feverishly writing (drawing?) on a scrap book. I have seen him before and was hoping to see him again because last time I regretted not asking him what he is working on. It appears as though he’s hurrying to record some incredible, world-saving theorem before his mind goes. Although there’s a chance his mind has already gone and he’s recording nonsense. He pauses every now and then to perform some sort of loud vocal exercise, which is clearly aggravating the small woman across the table from him. Soon there may well be a small woman V tweedy man confrontation.The library is an exciting and dramatic place, never mind sharks.

Speaking of animals, there are mice in my car. WTF? We have successfully banished them from our house and they have taken up residence in my car. I know because the milk bottles I have been hiding in the glove box have suddenly vanished and been replaced by tiny mouse poos. It’s scandalous. There is one milk bottle left, which has tiny teeth marks in it. Even I wouldn’t eat that (I was tempted). I know that queasy, can’t-eat-last-sweetie feeling and sucked in mice (‘sucked in’ is a truly awful expression, but so are mice). This morning on account of it being BLOODY FREEZING I pumped up the car heater so that by the time I’d reached Hobart there was a distinct hot-mouse smell. I turned it up more. That’s for the milk bottles you mousy bastards.

Anyway, I have to stop spouting nonsense and go and write that novel. I should be inspired by the tweedy man’s drive. He’s probably devised a plan to halt global warming while I’ve been thinking about mice. The small woman is leaving, grumpily. How to leave grumpily: thrust back chair, thump books, sigh and look around for someone to roll eyes at (not me, I don’t want to conspire on the being aggravated by tweedy man front, he’s not bothering me and I find his throat noises interesting). She’s gone. The tweedy man hasn’t appeared to notice. He is wearing a three piece suit and a deerstalker hat. I’m looking forward to my twilight years, must start putting eccentric clothing items away in preparation.

God Meg, shut UP. I’ve only got two hours for the novel and I haven’t even started yet.

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Categories: Meg's Words

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