// // //
Thunder rolls across the yellowy grey "it's coming" sky as I walk in the door.
In the shower, I receive the second nosebleed of summer. If I let go of my nose it drips at the rate of once or sometimes twice per second. Chinese people would tell me it's because I've been eating too much "heaty" food. Other people would say it's a stress release. Whatever.
Later, I can't hear my music for the hail outside.
I can't relax - not yet - maybe this time next week, when it's all over. Even then, I've got other things, and other people, to stay worried about.
...and then the power goes off. I was folding t-shirts on my bed and for a moment there's nothing but darkness and thunder and rain.
Dream: I'm with a friend (although I'm not exactly sure which friend), and we seem to be in Singapore. We're going to her flat (I don't know why, I think we were on our way somewhere else), and just across the street from it, she points out her favourite TV station, "but my TV doesn't get it." "I thought you had cable ?"
While my friend showers, I wander around her lounge (although I think the bedroom is part of the same room as the lounge...and there's a bunk bed...) and wait. Upon finishing, she asks me if I wanted to take a shower, so I wander inside, shut the door, strip down to my boxer shorts and notice that I don't know where the shower is. I don't appear to be in the bathroom, it's almost like a study (I can vaguely remember a desk, and possibly a bookshelf). There's nobody else around, plus there's other rooms going off from here. I thought I was in an ordinary, student-housing-style one or two-roomed flat. It seems important that I have my shower, so I go looking for it.
At one point in my wanderings, I see 2 Japanese guys (I seemed sure they were Japanese, for some reason) outside, along with a girl who has waist-length hair. They all seem to be showering under a waterfall. It doesn't seem like a real waterfall, more just a gimmicky one that's sorta "shower"-height, complete with stone and moss and everything. It almost looks like some kind of invented scene rather than something "real". Perhaps they were posing for an advertisement, although this didn't occur to me during the dream.
A bit later, I see out (another ?) window a canal with deep blue water. The sky's blue and I get the impression that it's a rather hot day...and then I'm somewhere near the sea...there's a pier, and people playing on it and in the water.
I don't think I ever got to have my shower.
I got dropped off in St Kilda, and saw the following things whilst getting money and food before heading home ;
A cover for an 8-inch floppy disk (remember them ?), lying on the pavement. "Nashua" brand.
(later) an 8-inch floppy disk on the road, which presumably belonged to aforementioned cover.
A couple, sitting in right next to the window of a restaurant I walked past. The girl seemed to be learning quite close to her guy, staring at him, as he talked. Like, an inch or two away from him. When you're sitting at a dinner table, this seems a little too close in terms of personal-space-invasion to me.
A girl, at the tramstop, talking in some random language to her friend. She had half a loaf of bread, unsliced, in her hand, and was tearing small pieces off and eating it.
Also, I don't think I mentioned seeing (a few weeks back) a busker playing the pipe-part of a vacuum cleaner as a didgeridoo. Surprisingly, it seemed to work (either that or he had a tape playing behind him).
I've been watching my thumb turn into some kind of wasteland once more. The bad little things may have gone away again thanks to more antibiotics, but it's kinda hard to tell now, in between the broken skin, deep ravines where it's been bleeding, and so forth. At least it's only my thumb now. My skin's always been some kind of battlefield - my hands, my shoulders...
I got home, changed my shoes and hit the road. A long walk would shake the mood - probably the most useful thing I'd done all day. When I started, the sun was out, it was warm, and I thought I'd be coming home sweating. Instead, I came home with rain in my shoes, after watching the wind bend my fibreglass (so it says) umbrella in ways that just didn't look natural.
While my hair was being done, a part of my memory suddenly returned...about how an old girlfriend used to call me machine, but in a loving manner, or at least, something approximating one. I don't know how or why this piece of information chose to surface. I wish I knew...
A sudden, sharp disappointment makes everything amplified - the roadworks in the tiny street, the two people quietly sitting at a cafe table going through the rental pages. I look around and I don't know where to go. This wasn't what I expected.
Fortunately, the gut-wrenching screech across the street wasn't followed by sounds of metal on metal. Everybody went back to what they were doing, hearts beating a little faster. I was at the post office, sending off little gifts to people. Filling in the familar green customs stickers. A smile and a nod and some cash at the counter and it's all over. My hands are empty, and I can't help thinking it's a bit odd that I came to the post office carrying all these objects, but I leave it carrying nothing.
I spent today fixing numerous things, all inconsequential but nevertheless demanded by others. I'm ready to go now. I'm ready to sleep, to dream of alternatives.
Everything I do today is just killing time until I go to the airport. She just assumed I wasn't coming. I just assumed I was. How could I pass up an opportunity to go to the airport ? A building full of emotions, perhaps even moreso than a hospital...but how do you measure it ? Not just that, but the sense of possibility, the thought that "hey, I could be going somewhere...I should be going somewhere." Or the anticipation and the mild sense of panic that you'll somehow miss your flight even though you're here far too early.
The grimy observation deck gets harder to find every time you're there, as if they're embarrassed by it, or they'd rather you spent more time shopping. Last time I went, they'd put a wire fence between me and the view, but they can't stop the wonderful (in moderation, of course) background smell of aircraft fuel.
Actually being on the aircraft is the most boring part of it.
I took my camera with me as I walked up the park for lunch, but there was nothing picture-worthy. People passed by, talking work, or talking work stress. The sprinkler was slowly spinning. Just another pile of grass and wood and leaves and blue sky.
Too much red wine, just enough memories. Old friends' parents don't recognize me these days - once I introduce myself they shriek with delight - "cos ? is that you ?" I can't believe I've known these people so long, that I still know them now. I'm thankful for the small, good things in my life like this.
My near-famous red sunglasses are gone, probably sitting somewhere in that Brunswick St cafe we spent so many hours in on Tuesday night. I could chase them, but I get the feeling it's better just to let it go. We had some good times. I'll miss that monochrome feeling when I'd put them on. Still, nothing lasts forever.
Maybe I was a little too prepared to lose the red sunglasses, 'cause after the car was washed inside and out at the shopping centre, there they were, sitting on my passenger seat. I guess when I'd been letting our other passenger out the other night, they fell out somewhere...
He drove an old, red Toyota Corolla, and turned into the street we'd just parked in. A quick reverse park, as if he were showing off to his passenger. A dash across the street into the park, where he sat on the swing and...well...swung for a while. He didn't look the type, cap, jeans and a t-shirt. But hey, swings are for everyone. There didn't seem to be anybody else in his car, like we'd thought. A few minutes later, after slowly coming to a stop, and a few minutes of post-swing thought, he got back in and drove away.
In our week and a half we shopped ourselves silly and caught up with mutual friends I never get around to catching up with normally because I just suck at doing that. For reasons beyond my understanding, shopping seems to be Our Thing. A friend of mine says he can't shop with his wife, because "we end up hating each other", and so instead he's got some friends to lean on when he needs to go shopping for clothes or whatever.
I sat on the sunny side of the bus, just for a change, as we wound our way back towards the concrete and glass and steel and people and beer and food and electricity. With an arm on the windowsill I watched all this go by me and through me. Digital clocks in all the primary colours. Flocks of cars taking corners like it was synchronized swimming. Backpacker hostels advertising Sky TV and a great time. Finally, we reached Spencer Street station - a journey from one departure lounge to another.
In the taxi on the way to the airport, I'd asked her if she wanted to wave goodbye to the city. "Nah. I'll be back soon enough."
Silver moon beckons. I could've gone out, to watch, listen, take pictures, but monday weariness got the better of me. There'll be other times.
"We always want what we don't have," I explained to a friend. "That's why we'll never be happy."
It's time to reform my carefully constructed rituals, many of which were put aside for 11 days. Right now, though, I've been sipping soup and feasting once more upon a friend's fragments of enjoyment, all seventy minutes and fifty three seconds of it.
In the bar/cafe it's all "...and he said...so she said...and then I said..." "...did you want any food ?" "...so the mouse moves between both screens...large flat-panel monitors..." "...a thousand here..." "...five seconds is all it'd take..." Facing the window, I watch countless people walking their dogs past the closed or closing shops. The asphalt pavement isn't really my scene, but then, neither's this place today, the music's too fast and too wrong. I wanted to relax. I'm trying to turn this negativity into something useful. It's hard work.