I am sitting in my little room, thinking of the future.
I am sitting in my little room. My workshop. My office. This is probably an achievement already but I am not sensible of it. Or I was, but I became complacent. Lazy.
This little room is more of an alcove – the door is a screen. It keeps the cat out. It does not shut out the world.
I am sitting in my little room, thinking about the future.
I feel like I have lost.
I feel like there are vast swathes of the world to which I am not invited. Whole occupations which I cannot contemplate. Vocations to which I am not admitted. Bricklaying. Forklift driving. Plumbing. Rigging. Truck driving. IT support. Industries where women work in the office while the men do the real work. Where the break gossip is about who knows a bloke who went out and got a FIFO job up north, great pay, blows it all on a car in a city where he only lives two weeks out of ten. Can’t get a date but fuck me the money’s all right, yeah. Urban legends about the local whores and the Asian cleaners and it’s the ugliest fucking arse end of the world but for that money you’re not there for the view, are ya?
They say there’s a skills shortage, but they overlook half the people in this country straight off the bat. We conveniently forget the other half are 50% office workers and those roughneck, self-taught manual geniuses, those boys who stripped out the olds’ classic wreck and spent three years worth of their supermarket shelf stacking or brickie’s labourers wages on getting it running again, that breed of Australian Male is long gone, if it ever really existed outside those few suburbs for those few years while you were young, mate. The 70s. Fuckin’ oath.
How is this situation progress?
And in the papers, it’s the men we talk about. Men’s work. Great male authors, directors, producers, CEOs. Where are the women? We’re not there.
And this is what I see, sitting in my little room, thinking of the future. I see I am invisible.
I worry that I am not really here.