Tired of paradise, so what do I do?

Now I ask you ... what the hell would you do?

Another day, another dollar ... and the rate exchange hasn't worked in my favor for a loooooooong time. Probably because of sunspots.

So what does one do when he lives in paradise and is tired of the place? Well mostly it's that I've had enough of it, but there is also a smidgen of I simply can't afford it anymore. But I don't want to admit that, so I'll just say I've outgrown paradise. That's what everyone around this part of Queensland claims: well, just another day in paradise, they'll say. Shall we go to the beach today, or just sit around the riverside watching the girls walk by.

Everybody girl watches ... guys do for lustful reasons and other girls do so they can compare. I was told that once and of course I believe it. Personally, I like to watch people and can I help it if half of them are women?

To be honest, I really don't watch men unless they are on the other side of the net and I'm in some kind of competition. Tennis, you know. The sport of gentle people. We smile, we say sorry when we don't mean it and we always shake hands after a set.
You know why we shake hands, don't you? So all the players know the set is over. Finally. But I like tennis ... play social tennis three or four times a week. Used to play competitively with the Over 70s crowd but I've always disliked being that tightly scheduled. Have a match tonight? Oh, damn and I wanted to go down to the beach and girl watch.

So I live near the beach. On the fly leaf of my latest novel I claim living in a cottage near the beaches of Queensland. Well, I'll be honest with you ... I live in a small two-bedroom shack a couple miles from the surf. And that's close enough. Is that a lie, saying that on the fly leaf? If so, so what? I'm of the school that says that all books are fiction. Well, there is one exception that I've come up with and that's the dictionary. Every other book ever published, in my view, is fiction. And what is fiction? A tale of entertaining lies that the author made up.

But I'm serious about being tired of living in paradise. Can you believe it? Tired of living in almost perpetual sunshine, blue skies, lots of bright colored birds, the warm Pacific Ocean to swim in and lots of girls wearing only the bottom half of their bikinis. Oh, woe is me. Must be something wrong.

But the point of all this is to let you know, I'm going to move.

Yeah, soon, too. Once this real estate deal goes through, I'm packing everything in a rented truck and driving south. Gonna get some use out of those long-sleeved shirts and Levi's I brought with me when I moved down here ten years ago. No more shorts, sandals and T-shirts. Back to having four distinct seasons and a woodbox filled with firewood next to the fireplace. Yeah.

So I ask you ... what would you do?