So I’m listening to Under The Milky Way through my headphones for something like the fifteenth time in a row, sitting on a mattress with little enough foam to let me feel the missing wooden slats in the bed frame. The notebook keyboard is nice and quiet, as not to wake my hosts in the next room while I sit tapping away, facing the wall to avoid the glare of the bare light bulb that keeps the room alight. Spare rooms are nice things, so much nicer than couches and lounge room floors, for the most part anyhow.
I’m still in transit at the moment, chasing a more full-time place to live. I’m having a great time spending a lot of time with my friends in their houses, but I’m not much of one to mooch, and somewhere a little more permanent would be handy, so that’s my main concern at the moment.
Work is great, but requires a bit more of a spiel to do it any justice, so I might save that for another time.
I’ve been a little out of character at times lately. The simplest thing that I can think to liken it to is that I’ve been acting like a dog in heat, which is totally against the grain of my regular distracted approach to things. I can only reason that it’s been on my mind because everything else in my life is going so swimmingly at the minute. My body isn’t recovering from any breakages or major illness, I’m working again, back on my bike, getting to spend lots of time with my friends (and some with family)… I have debts to repay, but nothing insurmountable. Things are, generally speaking, fantastic. And so with no slights against me or obstacles to overcome, the mind is free to wander and consider other playful fancies, or other sources of trouble as the case may likely be.