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The title says it all, really. Seems the whole 'I just moved across the country after breaking up with my partner of seven years' business is finally hitting home. I'm kind of relieved about this; I was beginning to feel like some sort of emotionless drone prone to occasional bouts of self righteous indignation, and I really didn't like resembling John Howard so closely. The emotions are patchy and all over the place right now, but at least they're there.
For the most part, I'm still getting by making detached observations about being back in the country. Like how, f'rinstance, in the country you can get up close and personal with the wildlife while it gets up close and personal with your tastes in fashion. (In this case 'the wildlife' was a big brown spider, who evidently didn't approve of pale green shirts this season. I've been approaching my suitcase with trepidation ever since.) In the country, you can also find librarians who work in shorts and t-shirts, and who reside in libraries that only hold one copy of one Jane Austen, which I've already read. I've procured their only Asimov, Astley and Atwood, with the idea that it might be slim pickings so I should really move a letter at a time.
But in the country you can also still find kids yelling raucously as they swim in the river, which is still clean enough to be swum in. It's even clean enough that you can see clear to the bottom, providing you can actually, you know, see. In the country, people will smile and say hello as they wander past because it isn't so hard to acknowledge the existence of every human being you pass. In the country, you can still find plentiful stocks of decent women's size five and six shoes when you look because there aren't hordes of Asian women with good taste in footwear around to compete with.
That's been the other distraction: retail therapy. I'm generally not much of a shopper, but I found great satisfaction in purchasing new shoes, a new top and new slacks today, along with the beginner's (read: fucking massive) knitting needles Mum shouted me. She's going to attempt to teach me to knit, which should prove amusing for someone, even if it isn't me.
I've also begun looking at the prices for things I might have to buy once I settle in Canberra, which is slowly turning the sense of trepidation into one of excitement. I'll probably end up with a lot of wussy, feminine stuff in some show of defiance or independence, and then hate it six months down the track. I have promised myself to avoid anything that looks offensively bright, though.
In the country, it sometimes gets dark and the shops shut, and them I'm left with little to think about besides my circumstances. I must find a source of chocolate. Quickly.
For the most part, I'm still getting by making detached observations about being back in the country. Like how, f'rinstance, in the country you can get up close and personal with the wildlife while it gets up close and personal with your tastes in fashion. (In this case 'the wildlife' was a big brown spider, who evidently didn't approve of pale green shirts this season. I've been approaching my suitcase with trepidation ever since.) In the country, you can also find librarians who work in shorts and t-shirts, and who reside in libraries that only hold one copy of one Jane Austen, which I've already read. I've procured their only Asimov, Astley and Atwood, with the idea that it might be slim pickings so I should really move a letter at a time.
But in the country you can also still find kids yelling raucously as they swim in the river, which is still clean enough to be swum in. It's even clean enough that you can see clear to the bottom, providing you can actually, you know, see. In the country, people will smile and say hello as they wander past because it isn't so hard to acknowledge the existence of every human being you pass. In the country, you can still find plentiful stocks of decent women's size five and six shoes when you look because there aren't hordes of Asian women with good taste in footwear around to compete with.
That's been the other distraction: retail therapy. I'm generally not much of a shopper, but I found great satisfaction in purchasing new shoes, a new top and new slacks today, along with the beginner's (read: fucking massive) knitting needles Mum shouted me. She's going to attempt to teach me to knit, which should prove amusing for someone, even if it isn't me.
I've also begun looking at the prices for things I might have to buy once I settle in Canberra, which is slowly turning the sense of trepidation into one of excitement. I'll probably end up with a lot of wussy, feminine stuff in some show of defiance or independence, and then hate it six months down the track. I have promised myself to avoid anything that looks offensively bright, though.
In the country, it sometimes gets dark and the shops shut, and them I'm left with little to think about besides my circumstances. I must find a source of chocolate. Quickly.
