I got to leave after only 3 hours of overtime today, and clearly I've become institutionalised because I was actually grateful to be getting home so early. I could have caught the train home, taking about 20 minutes worth of commuting and about a 10 to 15 minute hilly walk, but I decided not to. I had rational sounding reasons, like the fact that the 1.5km trek home through the rain while wearing high heels sounded particularly painful. But thta wasn't mostly it.
I wanted to go home via the city. I wanted to actually wander past the plate glass windows lit up with the bright displays. I wanted to sit on the bus and watch the lights, loop up onto the freeway and watch the lights of the Wheel of Brisbane and the mismatched bridges.
I watched the people in their office clothes pour out of buildings like so many ants. I watched men in shirtsleeves run hands through hair, pushing up the cuffs as they stayed back late. I saw impossibly groomed women in sleek high heels and pencil skirts looking impeccable even in the humidity and even more women crowded at bus stops with rain induced curls and sparkling drops on wool coats.
I loved the bustle, the lights, the hum, the annonymity and yet the feeling of being part of something. Of seeing stories unfold behind backlit windows like so many television screens - as if I was watching life on some amazing television set.
I'm feeling balanced today, like I am getting better at knowing where work finishes and home begins. What I was missing was the link, the step that made it all work. The 20 minutes extra dreaming and just getting to be me. The part that wants to ask Ou Est Le Swimming Pool?