Everything may be pouring in at once in your work and it's all good news. Your career direction gets some encouragement, and life's problems should find easy solutions. You may benefit from a more experienced person who is now likely to take you under their wing. You should consider them a mentor and carefully listen to the advice they offer you.
Ummmm so it's been a while and in fact Adelaide seems like a tipsy lavender dream so the guilt has propelled me from the cosy echelons of the brown couch to the keyboard. Every time I have sat down to write in recent days I have drifted off into the land of blog, tracing pathways from one to the other in a dizzying network of interconnectedness on subjects ranging from underwear to post colonial struggles and I'm afraid I just can't keep up. I do so admire these earnest posts and polemics on serious subjects but when I climb into to the writing space all I want to do is spill my boring guts and forget the research and references and just make it all about me, me, me.
Something terrible has happened to my punctuation these days.
First a dream: Last night I was in Sydney on my way to a job interview and I took the elevator to the fourth floor of a very flash building where instead of an office door I discovered rows and rows of battered old school lockers in peeling green paint on grey with a strange man waiting for me. We walked a short distance and then i had to climb up a slide wearing impractical heels so of course I kept slithering back to the bottom (symbolism anyone? It wouldn't take a Woman's Day dream expert three minutes to work that one out) until eventually I got frustrated and, apologising for my unprofessionalism took my shoes and beige (!) stockings off. We sat and talked for a while and then when I went to put my shoes back on one of the heels exploded in a shower of glass and glitter, leaving a steel rod behind. By this time I was mortified, a feeling which only worsened when the man kept trying to put the shoe back on my resistant foot.
Next a ship. Of course the biggest news I have at the moment is that in two days time I will be bedding down on a 16th century sailing ship amid the sea chests and ballast for a short and uneasy sleep ahead of my first voyage. For five days I will be sailing the high seas in an adventure which by all accounts sounds vomity and tiring and painful and I am curious to see what motivates any number of people to do this for fun. Perhaps they are mad. I for one am addicted to my very soft bed and soy flat whites and a distinct lack of anything that leaves my hands scratchy raw and my cheeks burning with extertion (unless of course it's vigorous sex but god knows even that is a distant memory) but that aside this ship hurt me on the first day by cutting my fingers and bashing my head and turning my stomach and pulling my weakened muscles so god help me i hope I survive. I actually just feel sick at the thought of being out on the lurching waters full of sharks scary things sea snails and maybe even krakens according to legend but these things I am trying to put out of my mind.
I cannot shake this feeling of suspension at present it feels like I'm holding my breath and waiting, waiting for something to happen. This week saw a lucky escape from Bunbury for the time being at least but by god I can feel how close I am to closing my eyes and flinging myself out of here. I have my eye on regional WA and the newspapers that communicate the secrets of our baked red land but in a surprise turnout I was emailed on Friday by a Federal MP asking me to call her for an interview for a job in Parramatta, land of mystery. So of course I start picturing myself as a wise ol' media savvy political hack with a taste for the stoush and an eye for policies but somehow it's exciting and depressing at the same time. I have a stronger yearning than ever to be writing all day, all day, and it is closer than ever but if one more person tells me I'm "on the right track" I think I will scream.
The other day one of my old uni lecturers hit on me at a party which was entirely weird because at even a relatively young 44 he is still far too old for me and at the time I was dressed like a mexican even down to the racially-typifying sombrero and rather drunk on tequila shots so it all seemed a bit surreal and I just couldn't take it seriously. I saw him a couple of times after and was very adult but in a "come near me and i'll chop it off" kind of way. I think I have managed to not even begrudgingly lose interest in the opposite sex for a time which woul be entirely bizarre if I sat down to think about it but my head is so full of clouds and dreams that it sort of makes sense to me. In the past few days I have been dwelling in blessed silence both within my head and out, letting sleep and my crazy dreams wring me out of my life for a time.
Really I am not sure how to finish this but it feels like it's time.