A Sabbatical on Stromlo

I am sitting at the top of a mountain, next to the burnt out remnants of a space telescope, and drinking Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper. The mountain is Mount Stromlo and it’s the first time I’ve been up here since Loz drove me up the winding road and past the stables, describing the night the horses had tensed up, then panicked, and the half hour spent calming them before reversing away from the building, headlights shining for a second on what seemed to be the ghost of a woman in the night.

The last time it was dusk, and freezing, and a group of teenagers shot a potato cannon in huge arcs toward the kangaroos that scattered far below. Today it is unseasonably cool, but not cold, and the aeroplanes running the Melbourne to Sydney route make scattered contrails across the sky. From my vantage point near the dome I watch a shiny new four-wheel-drive crest the hill, and make a slow loop of the car park. The occupants point at the dome from their car, and hang a camera out the window for a photo. In the hour I have been sitting here, there have been four cars. No-one has got out of their vehicle.

On Wednesday night, Christmas Eve, I fly home to Perth after a month that at times has been jubilant and invigorating and at others, and in equal measures, frustrating and trying. This past week I’ve had to walk out of the office twice, for fear that I was on the verge of saying something I would later regret.

I sat with one balled fist on my lap and stared pointedly out the window, before making the decision to step out. The door beeps and rattles at me as I fight with the time-delay lock and the sound echoes in a corridor already filled with the rhythmic dinging of the broken elevator. I take the stairs and strike out past the depressing enclave of suburban desolation that is the local mega mall, to sit on a chipped green bench facing the lake.

The tradies across the water fire nails into radiata, and my back rubs against the white text scrawled on the bench, which cheerfully proclaims, “Belco cunts are shit.” I watch the ducks until I am again capable of interaction with other humans, then flirt with the girl in the coffee shop, and walk back to the office to clear the post-it notes and cherry pips off my desk.

Tonight, for the first time in a year, I found myself firing up seek and flicking through advertisements. This was not through any desire for another upheaval, or forced change of circumstance, but just because I was again curious as to what was out there.

I think a week off is going to do me wonders.