tales from an ordinary world

2003-07-01

Where does the time go? A myriad of little events, things to do, places to be. In our idle moments, this is what we wish for - to be so busy we've hardly got time to worry. Well. I'm here.

Once in a while there's even time to let individual moments sink in - the sight of venetian blind shadows across a friend's face, for instance.

2003-07-06

Confusion blows in like a cold wind. Don't tell me there's no hope - not now. Was this supposed to be the last good day of the year?

2003-07-12

I hadn't been on this Saturday morning train for a very long time. I hadn't slept in my old bedroom for a very long time, either. Here I was. As we pulled out of Richmond station, some little girls somewhere behind me got all excited and started to chant

"next stop is the city
next stop is the city
next stop is the city"

...which eventually turned into

"herald sun
herald sun
herald sun"

when they saw the old Herald Sun building on Flinders St. The power of repetition, eh?

2003-07-16

For a good 10 minutes or so it seems like I've ended up in the restaurant of broken dreams. One girl nearby tells her friend about a co-worker she isn't getting along with. Behind me, somebody tells his friend about how he's just quit something (a uni course, maybe ?), in a voice full of resignation. It's almost too much. A few minutes later, though, both parties are simultaneously laughing at some random private joke. I guess there's still hope.

2003-07-17

A lone saxophone plays quietly over the speakers while I face away from the bar and watch a spinning ceiling fan above and to one side. Swirl the coffee in my hand - slowly, just enough to wash the froth off the sides. Seven moments of calm. One moment of tiredness.

2003-07-20

I walked through the streets of North Melbourne, waxing lyrically in my head about a few drunks I'd seen swaying in the midday wind. Ten minutes later I was sitting outside a cafe feeling like a dark shadow was hovering over my body, squeezing my stomach and rubbing sleep back into my head. She drove me home and I slept and slept and slept. Where did the weekend go? I can still feel its grip, ever so occasionally, around my gut. What's going on?