It's dark outside, and I just heard a kookaburra laugh. It's the oddest sound, after sunset. This fluorescent-lit little cubicle sits level with the treetops, attracting flying ant swarms and plant smells through the open window. I'm so pleased I don't work in the city, so glad I can open my windows and get fresh air rather than grimy pollution fumes, hear birds and wind rather than commuters and industrial hum. In the stickiness of lunchtime, with sweat trickles inching down my spine, I prayed for an airconditioner. But evenings and mornings make it all worthwhile.

Studentism be blessed.

Brisbane continues to amaze me with it's colour changes. This time last year I was too busy grappling with newness and emotional meltdowns to notice.This summer I've watched the snowdrifts of petals turn from the jacaranda's purple trumpets, to yellow delicate flakes, and now a scarlet carpet. I must find out the names of these trees.

The smells, too, seem thicker than in my old tropical haunt. In Darwin, we had the raintrees and frangipani, but they couldn't penetrate the air-conditioned boxes, and in the post-rain cool, the storm smell drowned out their subtleties.

Noding and working to avoid the yearly meltdown. Hopefully stress and adrenaline will rescue me from blithering emotional heaps. He is invading my subconscious and interrupting my sleep. My beloved support crew is embarking on a much-needed and anticipated romantic adventure, and I MUST smile and cheer him on. Yet another "Is this really what I want to do with my career" crisis looms. Melodrama rears it's head and asks to play. We haven't had a good drama in months. Chatroom trolling beckons.. shitstirring as a diversionary tactic, flaming as stress relief…. time to search out the old bookmarks.

Possibly my mother has reason to be worried about my internet dependence.


Out of books to read. Out of bookshelf space to put new ones in. It's possible that beneath the pile in the corner there's a hidden treasure, something that I loved and haven't read for at least two years. That I won't be able to quote chapter by chapter within minutes of picking it up. Avoiding buying new ones, not simply due to bookshelf space, but to hand out as ideas when my family cry "what the hell can we get you for Christmas" and in a desperate attempt to limit procrastination opportunities. Summer mornings just cry out for books and balconies, rather than the office. I need a new author to love, too.

I need, I want, I whinge.....


Good lord, I flushed my head and out came an "I feel" W/U! Fluffy bunnies dancing all over the place. Suspect this makes me a screaming hypocrite. But there's a brand spanking stack of new factuals to go play with instead. Off you go, nothing to see here.