How do you complain about the dawn chorus starting up at 4.30am? It’s spring, and there is nothing I can do about it. So awake too early with a headache and nasty temper. It will be 28 degrees today, and I think I am fighting against the start of the warm weather. It’s my last spring in Australia. The decision has been made, and I fret that it could be the wrong one. But it’s made, and I have to go forward in spite of being so very disappointed. I could have listened to the wrong advice and got this very wrong. We shall see and I am trying to stop the feeling of panic. Feel like a kid who has had her birthday party cancelled. It will be better when little cousins (as I call them) arrive, and we can all curl up in a family heap and hug.
Silly weekend, as I only managed a final edit as far as chapter four. I don’t know why I am rushing. I think I am trying to publish before I completely lose heart in my story. So telling myself to slow down. Self-imposed deadlines are the hardest to break. I get so cross with myself. I need to put the book out because it is blocking my thought process on the next story. Or maybe it just that I am tired out and desperately frightened.
Over-exercised to try and get my shoulder working normally and now find my hip aches. Damn. What with that and leggings that are too hot, a trip to buy exercise clothes is needed this week. Thankfully only two days at work and a rush to get various tasks finished before I go. A lot of things to achieve in this next few days, including some more eye tests and fixing a dent in my rear bumper.
Amused by the students this morning. They have suddenly gone from wearing their sweaters and black leggings, which makes them look as if they forgot to put their skirts on, to being practically nude in Daisy Duke shorts and t-shirts. How anyone could find them sexy completely amazes me. They look like a heap of very confused puppies. One girl wanders about in primary-coloured fifties boofy skirt with big bows in her hair and bright-coloured Mary-Janes with frilly socks. She looks a fright, but at least she is trying to forge her own fashion identity. I look out for her with interest. She’s a nice bright spot on the flesh-tinted horizon. I long for the day when they get their fake tans streak free.
Heard a sad little blues song that is now stuck in my head. Lyrics went something like, ‘who will call me on Sunday now God has called on you’. God concepts don’t work well with me, and the thought of M being called by any god is truly silly. But it hits the spot. Sunday is the day with the big hole in it. I miss his calls and fight the urge to dial his mobile number to see if his voice still answers. That at least will fade when I am away from here. The memories won’t haunt so often.
Watched Vicky Christina Barcelona yesterday. How did I miss seeing it before? I have certainly faced all those decisions. Maybe take a look at Barcelona. My new home can be anywhere; there is no one waiting for me anymore.