Grateful

Recently, I had to pay a visit to our local Centrelink office. (The equivalent of welfare office.) I qualify for a few government rebates now that I am a 'single' mum. I had never been to this place before.

As you might expect it was quite depressing. The mood was somber. People were shuffling slowly through lines or waiting for their name to be called. The receptionists seemed friendly and could crank out a smile for each new person who approached their desk. However, I immeadiately had the feeling that this was the last place I could work.

I walked in and had to wait in a line that moved slower than cold honey. Then once I was 'seen', I was told to wait in a small seated waiting area. I was informed that the wait was approx. 20 minutes. HA!!! Never believe government workers that have the ability to smile all day long.

A cool 50 minutes later, someone finally called my name. I can tell you this experience was only one notch higher than waiting in the emergency room. At least I wasn't in pain. Well... not at the start.

Finally, after an hour long interview, my forms were lodged, I was informed in a professional and politically correct manner that I would hear back about my claim one week from today's date. Bla bla bla. (See, I could never work there!) I really am not in to bureacracy and form filling outings. I am not a 'go by the book' kind of girl. But at times one must jump through hoops to get the free bucks... Right?

The worst part about that place, was seeing the people lining up for their welfare payments. I don't want to generalize, but if you want to find the 'down and out's' of life, the broken hearted people in humanity... the welfare office is a good place to start. Made me kind of think... how I sit here in my lovely shop and complain about 'work'. What I really have is a choice. I own a business and I have a teaching degree. Choice gives us freedom, and keeps us out of the welfare office. For that I am grateful.

Work

As I sit here staring at a pile of bills I must pay, and invoices I must file and phone calls I must return, I realize that all the 'must do's' in life can be quite crippling.

I HATE being told what to do, or how to do it. I don't handle criticism well, and I have problems with authority. Basically I am a suburban housewife rebel.

Now, I also own my own business, a 'mother and baby' shop in my small town. Part of the allure and glamour of running your own business, is the independence. I don't have to answer to the 'man', I am the 'man'! I can work my own hours, make my own decisions and spend as much time on my computer as I like. :)

The problem (and usually there is one) is that I lack the motivation to do the real work. I hate paying bills, sweeping, unhappy customers, etc. Basically, once the glamour and idealism wore off, it just became a job. Ho hum.

So, what kind of job does a lazy, suburban rebel housewife, disorganized procrastinator do? ;)

Tomorrow

I am a procrastinator. I may not have invented it, but I have perfected it. My motto, "Why do today, that which can be done tomorrow!" And... we all know tomorrow never comes.

But it seems that even though old habits die hard, they do catch up with you. Like when you decide not to clean your house and suddenly old friends drop in from out of State. Surprise! Or you can't sleep because you know you haven't completed your homework. (OK, that one was a flashback.) Ahhhh, my favorite one: the phone gets cut off because you lost the bill. You see where this is going.

I feel as if perhaps it is time for change. I have almost started driving my own self crazy. I've noticed that when I take care of stuff on time it unblocks a lot of stress and anxiety. It makes way for creative energy to flow and allows me to have peace of mind.

So this weekend I need to clean out my classroom, finish a couple of projects and get on top of my laundry. I'll let you know how it goes. What are you going to accomplish? I'll keep you posted on my progress.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

Yesterday, I noticed my daughter had a broken crayon in her hands. A moment later I looked down and noticed that she had the crayon placed expertly between two fingers. She then appeared to be sucking on it and then puffing.

Horrified parent of three-year old child: "Honey, what are you doing?"

Precocious child's response: "Smoking."

Horrified parent who is also trying to keep a stern face: "Where did you learn to do that?"

Puzzled child's answer: "Daycare. Claire showed me."

Hmmmmmmmmmm.... (indeed)

Later that evening... I was offered a "smoke".

"No thanks, I want to live a long healthy life and not get sick and die."

"It's only pretend mum."

Oh brother.