So I'm an archaeologist. I think I wanted to be an archaeologist like since forever. Only I didn't think it was an option when I was younger. My mother thinks it was a forgone conclusion as she occasionally reminds me off all the crap I used to collect and bring home. An advantage there being that I always, well mostly, grew up near bushland and there's heaps of crap dumped in bushland that's near suburbia. So of course I'm gonna drag it home, clean it up and examine it. Who wouldn't? Huh?
The thing is though that when you're young you think of digging up Pharonic tombs or unearthing Roman short swords, well that's what I thought. My reality is far from that. Don't get me wrong, my reality is a fucking great one. I mean I get paid, well paid, to go four wheel driving, mountain and hill climbing, caving and generally stomp around the wild west of Australia in search of archaeological goodies on a daily basis.
That's the good side and I know you're all thinking "ooh how glamorous" HA! But of late I think I've spent more and more time sitting behind a laptop than I have actually doing hands on, in the muck archaeology. (That's why I'm blogging right now, I need a 10 minute break from this office work and I find this - blogging - very therapeutic).
But it's a cycle type thing, sometimes it's all outside, others it's mostly desk bound, hopefully tomorrow will offer more of the outdoors. I should shut up because I really don't have anything to bitch about do I? I mean, only recently I was sitting in an inner city bar watching the suits drag their staid butts home at 5pm. They get to do that 5 days a week, home - cubicle - home - repeat.
Okay, "therapy time is ovah".
My desk with a tease of the outback on the screensaver