I have quite an imagination at times.
Not as much as I’d like, though. I would like to be one of those people who has a television in the house but never turns it on, leaving their ‘down-time’ to other mentally stimulating practices like reading and doing crossword puzzles. But, no, I like plonking myself down in front of the television – or the computer, more like – and just flick around, check out what’s happening.
However when my brain does decide to turn on, it is often a jarring and obliquely farcical exercise. Let me give an example: remember the $150,000 six-month contract blogging job? I seriously did consider entering.
Forget for a moment that as it turned out I had no chance in hell of getting it, as most of the short-listed candidates were foreigners who shot videos and went to extraordinary lengths in order to get notices. I shortcutted that process and thought about the winning.
I visualised packing up the family and being the primary bread-winner, even for a little period of time. Adam could get the break he’s desperately wanted and I could see myself trying on wetsuits and snorkels; getting to know the people; I could plan out the ‘potty / teeth / bed’ routine in a new house and I could best of all see us all overlooking the sea.
I even checked if Hamilton Island had a preschool.
That is the level of curiosity I ascend – or descend – to occasionally.
Then dad died and the idea died along with him. Not that I had a chance, as I said above, but I also realised it was a silly idea to begin with.
Last Monday, another idea was born. It came to me clearly, and I smacked myself I hadn’t thought of it before. With some careful rearranging of preschool class-times, and certain extra-curricular activities the kids are involved in, I could wrangle a half-day of child-free time a week. Four hours! To write! A need first confessed here and I admit since I’ve written that, the need has multiplied like bacterium.
So I rang the child-care centre and yes! there was room. Enrol him now! The snag came when it came to rearranging Keira’s preschool times. Her teacher came to our house and explained to me how she thought it best Keira remained where she was, and laid out convincing arguments to back-up her opinion.
Keira has been struggling at preschool these past few weeks. The reason why has been speculated that it involves dad’s passing, and as I sat on the couch, realising all those fantasy-riddled plans of the past few days were slipping past, I felt disappointment, yes, and an embarrassment (almost) for daring to hatch it in the first place.
In the end, we’ve decided to keep things as they are. My alternate-writing-reality will just have to wait a little longer.
But it was beautiful while it lasted.