Even though it was windy and threatening rain, she liked to stand on the hill. It was quiet and contemporary issues faded away into a fain echo of a background in the mind. There's something pleasing about hearing the wind whistles past your ears, whispering words of a different kind. Soothing. Without the heaviness and clunkiness you sometimes get with English words. No. This was clean.

Granted, she had no idea where she was. She was about two hours from home and sitting on top of a roughly mowed grass hill. Being fairly public land, she did acknowledge she was in farming country and, in actual fact, the likelihood of a farmer coming up here on a quad bike and telling her to "bugger off" was probably a matter of when, not if. Still. She liked it up here.

Feeling the blades of dry grass poke her backside, she wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them close to her body. Being around people as hard now. She didn't like it. She didn't know how to do it. Make no mistake, she wasn't socially awkward. It was her job. She didn't like people or what they were capable of at least. She just didn't see any point in trying to make friends or deal with people outside of her job. They didn't understand. They had stupid opinions that were uninformed and based on speculation. They said their lives were stressful. Trying not to be judgmental about it, she told herself that everyone is different. Everyone has different stress levels. But she would be lying if she said she truly thought that. Eventually she became irritable with it. People with very easy, and in plain fact, jobs that weren't actually that stressful. There. The contemporary issues were back.

Realising that those opinions may not have been the best to publicly share, (especially when you're having coffee with a friend and hearing them tell you about their 'stressful day' when you realise. Their stress is actually not stressful. At all. The worst they see is a child pull another child's hair in play school. How on earth is that stressful compared to when you have two people trying to kill each other, trying to keep them apart for the sake of their children and then the government comes in and takes the child away. How on EARTH does that work.

Frowning as the thoughts became too loud in her head, she shook her head a little. There. The thoughts died down. She knew she shouldn't think like that. It wasn't fair. Everyone is built for a different job. But she just couldn't help but be cynical about it. She just couldn't. It was just fact. Some jobs are stressful then others. Again, the contemporary issues were back. Like a disease. Nodding to herself, she recollected just sitting there on the chair at home as her friend chatted away mindlessly about a child making arts and crafts. Great effort was spent on her part pushing down the feelings of dissatisfaction and annoyance. She didn't want to hear about children. She didn't like it. Ending up zoning out, she realised that she was very good at appearing interested when she wasn't. It was a flaw in her personality.

But she liked her job. It was what she wanted to do. The problem was that you need to have the right people around you. She didn't have that. Not entirely. On top of that she was far away from anything familiar. She'd be lying if she said it wasn't getting to her. It was getting to her on a significant level. But she knew she could just carry on like no other. Eventually she'd get to go home for a holiday. But then. What would she actually do? 100% she knew she'd be spending it in the most quiet place as possible. Most likely in a garden with a cup of tea just not near people. Preferring music or a book or something where she didn't have to feel people around her. She liked the rush of the wind. The prospect on catching up with people terrified her. She had nothing to say to them. She just didn't have anything in common with them anymore. Conversation was forced, awkward and she didn't want to tell people really about what she did. That's not the sort of thing you share really. Even the things she did share with a few people it was very vague and limited. Ironic really. Doing what you wanted to do that you stop being the you that wanted to do it. But you still want to do it.

Of course people would be offended. But people are always going to be offended. Is a choice to be offended and it is a choice she simply doesn't have time for. Used to her own company now, it's a hard fact of her situation. People come and go. Very few stay.

Glancing at her watch, she realised she'd been up on the hill for a while. It was getting cold. She could do with a coffee as well. With a humph of effort, she got to her feet and brushed the dry grass of her backside and legs. The strings of her jersey swaying in the wind. With a tight yet blank expression on her face, she walked back down the hill past two sight seers. They gave her two pairs of welcoming glances. She didn't do anything in return. She meet their gaze and then simply let it draw away.

Returning to her apartment now she dug in her pocket for her keys. With a sigh of tiredness she knew not where from, she slowly opened the door and walked into the waiting jaws of her apartment and shut the door. The light flickered off and the thin slit of light that shone under the door was extinguished.