Fantasy...

First let me acknowledge this beautiful and tranquil image from Angelwave 06 at Deviant Art:
http://angelwaveo6.deviantart.com/art/The-Runaway-Bride-129637313

Pity she's a bride... I just like the long flowing gown and saddle-less stead. After last week I have so many of those fantasy moments... you know...
How did Tony Mokbel gate a false passport?
How did ONJ's ex create a new identity?
How can I just become someone else from now on and live elsewhere?

I know I will miss my home place, this beach suburb, but really I grieve for its older self, with less development, pristine and wild coves, shellfish and wildlife everywhere the eye could see, not raped and pilaged by generations of humans, and poluted by fossil fueled play toys. I hate the houses that have left such large footprints that the water table has dropped so far that I would have to sink a new bore to get access to the groundwater. And what of the massess of cut down scraggly ti-trees and willful gum trees dropping branches as nature decides. Not now. We have indigenous gardens, not in themselves a bad thing all, but they have a sameness. The native grasses and conrolled native flowering plants. Where are the wild crazy coloured banksia species and native parrots?

No this is beach house landscape as determined by "Better Homes and Gardens" and when looking beyond the architecturally designed angles and false stonework, the houses are basically upper middle class kit homes built on spec by very canny tradie business people laughing all the way to the bank whilst living in the really expensive seaside vista homes. It is no longer my wild place yet my heart is here, indelibly.

Yet every-time I have the choice to turn north towards the City from the Beleura Hospital in Mornington, it is only ever the low level of petrol in my tank that forces me to make the u-turn south. Same when I drive away from home just on a shopping expedition, the house is shrouded when I see either of the two other residents cars. My heart skips a beat when there is no-one home except the cats. I have those brief moments of respite without which I just could not keep up the battle.

I also know that I must seek fulfilment and happiness from within and acceptance of my own illness and flaws but it is all so self-help manual and they never hint that it is a lifelong journey and battle. I could virtually write the CBT manuals myself by now, and psychologists and social workers wonder why those of us in psychiatric care absolutely dismiss their 'advice' and pseudo science.

Perhaps I should have taken to fictio writing as a younger woman and gone the fantasy genre, or the highly marketable Barbara Cartland romance fiction, but alas I am too old and scarred from failed romance to suspend belief long enough for a full novel of this genre... perhaps that's why I am more into Nanna lit... these old birds like me have been through it all and survived, usually without Prince Charming holding the reigns of the partner stead for the escaping 'bride'... also shouldn't prince Charming have long flowing golden locks and enough money for Ashley and Martin in true Warnie/Hurleystyle?