Home James…

I’m flying home on Thursday night for a much-needed visit. And it won’t come a second too soon I can promise you.

I have Manila-fatigue. It’s a condition that occurs over here when you are really close to a visit home and suddenly all of the things that you can’t get or do become glaringly obvious.

See, the thing is, I was in a bad mood because iTunes had fucked me over and hadn’t made the final episode of Masterchef available for download. And I was in a media blackout, which meant that I couldn’t look at SMH or facebook or twitter. The things that keep me sane in the morning…in the long hours before the shops open (at 11am) and I can start my day (usually grocery shopping).

In the grip of my bad mood I realised that I had just come down with a rather bad case of Manila-fatigue…which is closely related to Princess Tears (as coined by Zoe Foster on Mamamia) and a second-cousin to the Hissy-Fit.

It sometimes leads to breakdowns…or to fits of crying…and I won’t lie to you, it mostly affects expat wives.

My condition manifested itself on Monday when I was rushing to catch the lift. I was late for training. Again. People seemingly prefer to catch lifts on their own over here, rushing to be first and closing the doors behind them. This bothers me, but I don’t usually get that worked up over it.

Don’t get me wrong, there is one lady on the 7th floor who is deliberately spiteful and closes the doors and when I got the chance to do the same thing to her it was probably one of the most satisfying things I have ever done in my life.

But on Monday when I was walking speedily down the corridor, made eye contact with a guy waiting by the lift bank and started walking faster only to have him dart into the lift and press the close button I kinda lost my shit. I ran for the lift and pressed the down button, forcing the doors back open. I stormed into the lift and barked in his face…”how SELFISH are you! You don’t own this lift. It doesn’t belong to you.”

I then stood muttering to myself in the corner about general selfishness and lift ettiquette…which perhaps rendered my outrage moot as he no doubt believed I had escaped from a mental infirmary.

To make myself feel…maybe better or maybe worse…I have been keeping a list of all of the things I need to purchase when I am back in Australia.

  • Bras – regular and sports
  • Skin care
  • New gym clothes
  • Pads and tampons
  • Yasmin
  • Nurofen Plus
  • Band-aids
  • Packed to the Rafters
  • Party Feet
  • Large and small cake rings

And the groceries…

  • Maldon sea salt
  • Shapes
  • Cumpets
  • Baking paper
  • Caramello koalas (for cleaner and trainer)
  • Mini Turkish Delights (for me)
  • Dukkah
  • Rice crackers
  • Tins of salmon
  • Packet rice
  • Dish wand refills
  • Bobby pins and hair ties

So bascially…I’m heading to Coles when I get home and I defy anyone to stop me!


4 thoughts on “Home James…

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