Tuesday
I make lists and call the hairdresser and check the emails and hang the washing out and then we wait, me and another girl clutching copies of the Herald at the counter of the deserted newsagent on the Erskineville strip. Eventually I meet her eye and say I think it would be all right for us to put coins on the counter. I'm the first to leave and I pass the owner, chatting as he walks back in. Defensively I assure him that my $1.20 is inside. That's fine he replies expansively, and I think about community until I get to the car.
In the Post Office I observe a mum placating a faceless kid in a red stroller.
The woman behind the counter t Petbarn says she would help me carry the dog food to my car but she hasn't had her coffee yet.
I renew my drivers licence for more than one year. It's the first time I've been able to commit. There's some solace in the fact that my hair looks fine. But my left eye is puffy.
And then Riflemind. I think these things. The next Hugo Weaving might be Brendan Cowell. Something about the familiar malice in the way he says Moon makes me belive that it could be that way. Susie Porter is wearing a dress tucked into her pants. And there are lines. So many significant lines to remember. Tomorrow we'll just feel more shit. Just feel worse? Or feel new shit? He loves her. He is betrayed. She betrays him. What about his holding pattern? Always someone (Moon) willing to jump in with a compliment, a face saver, an atmosphere restorative as he snaps again and again. Can't we have it back the way it was? No, because I won't let you - and I'm in control, aren't I?
In the Post Office I observe a mum placating a faceless kid in a red stroller.
The woman behind the counter t Petbarn says she would help me carry the dog food to my car but she hasn't had her coffee yet.
I renew my drivers licence for more than one year. It's the first time I've been able to commit. There's some solace in the fact that my hair looks fine. But my left eye is puffy.
And then Riflemind. I think these things. The next Hugo Weaving might be Brendan Cowell. Something about the familiar malice in the way he says Moon makes me belive that it could be that way. Susie Porter is wearing a dress tucked into her pants. And there are lines. So many significant lines to remember. Tomorrow we'll just feel more shit. Just feel worse? Or feel new shit? He loves her. He is betrayed. She betrays him. What about his holding pattern? Always someone (Moon) willing to jump in with a compliment, a face saver, an atmosphere restorative as he snaps again and again. Can't we have it back the way it was? No, because I won't let you - and I'm in control, aren't I?
posted by noonie at 11:01 PM
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