I stared out my bathroom window and watched the young Goanna head for the chook yard. No doubt it was heading for a feed. Bloody animal. As much as I loved native animals, I considered Goannas to be the garbage cleaners of them all. Our resident Goanna family always stole our eggs and the Grand baby's disposable nappies (with their contents) out of the rubbish hole in the northern corner of the house block. The eggs really weren’t such a concern. God knows we didn’t have time to collect them. If those poor chooks weren’t free range they’d probably starve to death waiting for us to have the time to feed them. Thank God we didn’t have to walk them!


God almighty. Why was I staring out of the window? I may love nature and living a rural lifestyle but really, who has time for this country style, go slow shit. I had to get a crack on, get into town to see clients, get into town to earn my money for the day.

I thought, while I brushed my hair and applied my work face. I was sick of work. I’d worked for 25 years in high stress legal positions. I’d given my life to law, and now, as I watched the docile Goanna meander for his sunny side up, I wanted to copy him and meander through life too.

What had happened to my work life balance? How come I didn’t have a life? How would society change if we got paid to go slow rather than getting paid to work, work, work?

Hey! I liked that line of morning reflection. Really, what WOULD happen if we got paid to have a work life balance, to have the time to meander to the chook yard and pick up the fresh eggs? Oh yeah. How about having the time to cook and eat those fresh eggs. Or bake cakes. Yeah. I can’t wait until retirement.

Distractedly, I drove into town in my new Jaguar, and wondered if it had made me any happier or if it was just another form of trading futures: a trade to ensure I have to keep working in the future to pay the pretty thing off!

I was just so distracted this morning. I couldn’t get that Goanna and it’s slowness out of my head. Was it happy? Does going slow indicate levels of happiness or was I just getting really confused and projecting my yearning to go slow onto the Goanna? Why is a slow old Goanna called, Go Anna, rather than go slow Anna?

Pulling the Jag into my private off street parking space and facing the stony cold wall of legal reality, I became aware that I hadn’t made my usual waves and change stops on my way to work that morning. Every other morning I would thrown change out to the guys selling The Big Issue on the corner of Redwood and Maple Streets. My hand was always ready to wave to the high school kids on their way to Saint Mary’s and to point accusingly at the man with a mental illness who used to try and throw his faeces at passing cars. I was just so distracted thinking about the Goanna and it’s slow pace. Damn it. I wanted to slow down and have a work life balance.

Walking up the stairs of our office building I reflected upon my reflection in our heavy tinted glass street front. I looked tired. I needed a break. Breaking me in two, the door opened from the inside and my husband hung out enough to prevent me entering and enough to deliver me his urgency.

“Young Harris was arrested for speeding last night. He’s been charged under the new Hooning laws. He’s up before Magistrate Green. Quick, head back to the court house will you, Anna. Go talk to Harris before the duty solicitor gets to him. Go, Anna. Go!

Yeah. Go Anna. Go. You just haven’t got time today to wonder how society may change if you got paid to go slow rather than getting paid to go Anna.


If you wish to join the Writers Prompt Daily simply use the above photo as a prompt and post a short story, poem or paragraph to your blog. Leave a comment and the link here so that all participants can come to you and read/comment/encourage. Story above is copyright and is Megan Bayliss' writing around the above picture prompt.