Saturday, 19 April 2014
It's a gorgeous sunny day, and i'm inside. My apartment is lit dimly by its one small window with the blinds closed, so this photo didn't turn out great. I'm listening to sad bluegrass tunes and refusing somehow to sketch, as i'm refusing to write an essay.
Vodka and rootbeer is the flavor of the day.
So far my happiest moment has been the discovery of a tiny basil shoot growing in a pot that i can't see without lifting the window blinds. Tomorrow is Easter, and perhaps i'll lift them properly then, whispering "bay-sil"...
I remember being chastised for saying "crackers". "Biscuits" is the proper word in Australia. "I'm biscuits," i say to you today. Sorry for the delay. The sketch i was planning has potential but only that, and i'm not good lately at finishing a soggy, gravy-soaked thing.
It was like the time in 2000, shortly back from here, i talked at work about "a bunch of" something.
"What are ya, a yank?" asked the outspoken boss i'd been chatting with. I didn't bother to explain.
Crackers like these are magnificently good with whipped cream cheese, which also may not be available in Australia. Together, that is, with understanding of how place changes a person. More Australian? Hardly.
For the first time in my life, I'm mostly wanting to be assimilated. Oh i know, i'll never make it. Especially not if i hang around indoors on beautiful mushy Spring days, and get too drunk to remember my most intimate conversations when they happen once a month.
I'm crackers, cracked, and missing half my heart.
The ground is soggy though, and new growth is everywhere.