And so the rains are here.

So Brisbane, the town I’ve lived in – on and off since I was a teenager, looks like it’s about to be pummelled by flood waters.

We’re not used to this type of thing here in Brisbane. We’re a capital city for goodness sake. Maryborough, Rockhampton, Townsville, those northern and extreme parts of the country are the ones that are most affected by nature’s extremes. Brisbane, well, we pull through, unaffected, right?

Apparently, not this time. Apparently, this is like some enormous payback for getting through the other times.

Yesterday, Toowoomba, a town 2.5 hours west of Brisbane, was flooded and people died in a sudden and horrific torrent of water rushing, gushing and ripping through the city streets. It’s a town that sits on a mountain range, so it’s flabbergasting how this can even happen. My dad, due to go to Toowoomba for work today, said he didn’t believe the news. Said “newsreaders always like to say the closest township so people know what, or where, they were talking about”. This is true to an extent. LSH’s family in Canada saw the floods in Rockhampton and were told through their newscasters the images were from Brisbane. Only slightly funny because Rockhampton is a 1.5 hour flight away. Dad probably still doesn’t believe that it was Toowoomba.

The water from Toowoomba’s inland tsunami is set to rush through Ipswich to the Brisbane River where it will break the banks and gush into our suburbs. Tears welled in my eyes as I saw my floating boardwalk at Southbank, where I often take a Sunday stroll, is under water. And this is just the beginning. Can’t even begin to fathom how I would feel if I saw my home like that.

I always think, in times of these natural disasters, “I hope they have insurance”. Funny thing is we’re with NRMA for our home and contents and they don’t insure for flood damage caused by overflowing rivers in Queensland. Of course, five years ago when I took out the policy, we were in a drought and I no doubt scoffed at these limitations. Frankly Brisbane hasn’t flooded since 1974 – so NRMA, in my mind are just pricks, if every 30 years is ‘prone’ in their books – I don’t know what frequent would mean. So, regardless, this morning, I started ringing around multiple insurers and my suburb is on an embargo list – along with 70 or so others. Do Not Insure, they say, likely flooding. Hmmm. Comforting words.

Maps of the city have been drawn up to show residents which houses are likely to be affected across which areas. We’re in a state of emergency, declares our Premier, a woman who looks too much like a girl I went to school with, it’s awkward and scary. The water is all starting to roll down the mountain. And the non-stop rain isn’t helping.

Our city centre was evacuated. How on earth does that happen? Our financial district, our government services our central retail all shut down. I work out of town, thankfully, but my drive home at 12.30 today was manic, thousands of people left their offices and hurtled home so as not to be stranded. The roads were busier than at peak times. Some workers were already stranded. Some people weren’t able to get home, already. I thank the universe that LSH and I have been able to arrive home and pop our dog upstairs.

People’s attitudes are interesting. My workplace said, “Look after your families and friends, look after your homes and your pets. Be safe. We advise that you don’t visit any areas that are flooded.  Work will be here when you get back.” LSH’s company and a husband of a friend of mine’s company both said, “nope, no need to leave.” LSH was nearly flooded in and unable to leave his office.

My personal attitude has been to stress and worry. I have no flood insurance. I might have a flooded home tomorrow. Not sure how high the waters are running, might be my downstairs, might be my upstairs. Might be none, might be all. I have now consumed three very quick glasses of bubbles and am starting to relax. 11pm tonight is going to be the worst, and we’re expecting some king tides tomorrow and Thursday. Some sunshine might raise our spirits a little. It’s harrowing, surreal and also completely ridiculous. I was planning a dinner out tomorrow, dinners for the weekend. Gym excursions and walks as well as mini-breaks to Sydney and now…we’re wet. All just wet. I’ve left the PC downstairs, here’s hoping that wasn’t a really silly decision.

A day of Facebook updates

“Marbles loves it when the alarm goes off in the morning and she throws a lazy, tired arm across LSH’s chest for five minutes of snoozing, before taking the dog for a walk.

“Marbles smiles widely at her dog who walks like a crazed lunatic.

“…dislikes looking at a wardrobe full of clothes that seem never to be quite good enough and don’t match any one pair of her boxes of shoes. Anyway, she would rather wear pyjamas to work instead. She also believes that one should be judged on one’s ability to one’s work, not by one’s clothes. She storms off to the bathroom with determination to start her new world order, but knows she’ll end up at the shops at lunch, instead. 

“…arrives at work, early, in a bid to get a kickstart on her day. But due to new found memory loss and truncated attention span, can’t remember why she’s even there in the first place.

“…does not enjoy being talked at by people who talk about themselves and their activities in terms of money. “I drank an $200 bottle of wine last night”. “I rode my $7000 bike on the weekend.” “I’ve just had a $30k pool put in.” She wishes somebody would save her from this boring self promotion/absorption.

“ …Tunes out in most meetings and really rather likes the smell of nikko and petrol. She wonders if tuning out and sniffing toxins are related?

“…thinks that perhaps some people are sent to drive her crazy.

“…gets cranky when LSH takes four hours to reply to her email. What do you want to eat for dinner?!!!!

“…also finds herself getting cranky at people who have the audacity to call  instead of email her. She dislikes talking on the telephone about work. Email and face to face are fine, thank you.

“…is starting to wish it was the end of day, week, month year.

“…is troubled that she’s wishing her life away and doesn’t seem to achieve much except working, drinking and eating.

“…spends much of her day wondering about the point of her existence and the meaning of life. Then gets sidetracked and starts thinking about new shoes and exercise.

“…pushes things around, walks with purpose and plays this little game called “grown ups”.

“…leaves the office and has supreme case of road rage after total muppet changes lanes in front of her without indicating and nearly cuts off the front end of her car. Sadly, the driver of the other car did not notice her wild gesticulating and jumping around in her seat in anger. Others, however, did. Now she’s worried she’s made a dick of herself… again.

“…opens bottle of wine (not $200 worth) at home and sits on the couch.

“…enjoys a nice comfy snuggle with dog and LSH and wonders when she’ll win the lotto.

“…speaks to electricity people and narrowly avoids major confrontation. She sighs, finds the fish bowl and fills it with wine. *Drinks*.

“…is pissed and off to bed.

Beige pants and white shirts

There’s a man that stands by the side of the road and we pass him, each day, as our dog takes us for a walk.

We only ever see his back as he stands, waiting patiently for the bus. His head is hairless, his shirt always white and pants always beige. He carries his backpack, probably full of lunch and papers, slung over his left shoulder and he stands with his feet slightly apart. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his face. Every day I consider saying “morning”, but I never do.

I can tell he knows we’re coming as the dog huffs and puffs, pulling me and LSH behind her and making them walk faster than they ever ordinarily would. He doesn’t say anything either, just slightly turns his head to the side and then returns it back to front and centre.

It’s been the same routine for months. We get up at the same time, walk at the same pace and pass him waiting for the same bus every day.

That is until today. This morning we still saw the back of a man’s head, but this head was covered with dark, thick, brown hair. He was also wearing a white shirt and beige pants. It was the same outfit, but a different guy. This made me think, quite logically: what if our man has was part of some space/time continuum experiment and is now 30 years younger?

He’s wearing the same daily uniform, his stance is the same, he wears his backpack in a similar fashion. The time space continuum has done him some favours, he looks good, a bit trendy, even if he is wearing chinos. Perhaps he works for a bank – wearing chinos, he’s unlikely to work for an advertising agency, but none-the-less the experiment seems to have been a roaring success.

According to appearances, only his hair is different. But there is something else. Without saying anything, he seems louder. His presence is louder, more assertive, more filled with exuberance and frenetic energy that those within two feet can feel. So without his saying anything, we can hear him.

I’d imagine his rocking up to work, saying “hello laydeez” with his new style and hair. No-one questions how odd it is that he looks younger, better, more alive than ever before. So he doesn’t tell them.  I wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s going to do with himself now that he has his time over again? Should he have wisdom or should he continue to make foolish decisions? What will he do with his 30s? What will he change? What will he keep the same?

Then I realise, if he had been in a time space continuum experiment and ended up 30 years younger, he wouldn’t be pootling off to work, by bus.

Hopefully the bald man who stands, quietly, by the side of the road waiting for his bus will be back tomorrow. Change to my morning routine appears to make me uncomfortable.