A Sick Day, a Cruise Ship, and the Decision to Quit

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What a day. I rang in sick and got the verbal equivalent of a raised eyebrow and a smug “thought as much”. No “hope you’re feeling better”, no sympathy, just the unmistakable tone of a man realising he now has to pay someone for not being there. Tragic.

To be fair, it had been coming. I’d been crook all last week and spent the entire weekend trapped indoors like a Victorian child with the consumption. By this morning, I’d had enough, so I took a mental health day. A proper one, sanctioned by modern medicine and backed up by a $49.95 doctor’s certificate, which in today’s economy is basically a legally binding note that says “leave me alone”.

It was also real estate inspection day, which meant cleaning the house just enough to look like a functional adult before fleeing for a few hours so a stranger could silently judge my life choices, including the small detail that I am nearly fifty years old and still sleeping on a mattress on the floor like a backpacker who’s run out of options.

With that done, I wandered down to Darwin’s port to inspect the enormous cruise ship that had docked overnight and promptly released several thousand tourists into the city like ants from a shaken nest. I took a few photos, marvelled at the scale of the thing, then did the only rational thing and went to a sports bar for a large wine to watch the Super Bowl. A glorious way to spend an afternoon.

After that, I grabbed a coffee at 1995 Café, a place I’d been meaning to try but which is always packed, presumably because it’s good. Turns out, yes, it is. Then I did a slow lap of the city, poked my head into the camera shop, rummaged through a couple of op shops, and generally ambled about like a man with nowhere he needed to be, which was the whole point.

Now I’m home. Sitting at the laptop, music on, apartment clean, lungs still full of phlegm but head mercifully clear. And with that clarity comes the decision.

Tomorrow, I hand in my notice.

So, if anyone needs an over-the-hill creative, part-time vagabond, available for a few months, do let me know.


Written by Adam

Adam swapped a fixed address for an old Toyota Hiace and has been driving around Australia ever since. He writes about outback towns, free camps, roadside pubs and the curious business of living on the road with his partner, Will.

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