6.30
Another 15 minutes and I'll get up

6.50
When was the last time I had a sick day?
Any meetings?
The Boss is back today - I can't be fucked listening to her tales of travel.
Walk to my sister's room to tell her she can drive in herself.

8.50
Ring work to say I'm sick.
Think about switching the mobile off - from previous experience, The Boss will call and pretend to care.

10.30
Finally out of bed with a dozen ideas to milk the day clean.

2.00
Three recipe books sprawled open -
Will it be mud slide cookies or chocolate chunk biscotti?

3.00
None, as it's now too late to bake.
Guilt starts to creep up, but restlessness has won the battle.

7.55
I'm ready for bed.
And almost ready for tomorrow.

Nite
xx

I am home on this glorious Monday.
Woo-Hoo!!!

The tangerine days on milk crates have moved on.
The Richmond ladies with little trolleys are staying in.
****
Between then and now
I swayed, and stalled.
****
Yesterday was the colour of malachite.
There will be change, it seems.
****
Amongst crocheted tear-drops, sake, patience and fire,
Character stood out, unabashed.
****
Heathered superstitions whimper relentlessly.
Voices seen.
****
If you'd only seen the matrix of meanings
In the yarn-led chase.
****
Thinking of Cat Power's Sea of Love
****

In the past week autumn
Laid bare its crasis.
In a little girl's hand was a giant fallen leaf.
I hadn't noticed the piles of burnt orange before,
This earthy brilliance set against dead tar.

Driving down the hilly roads of Templestowe
I saw twenty birds fly majestically in some formation.
I wouldn't have captured it quickly enough even if I had a camera.
Like how I could not tangibly preserve the gothic awe of St. Stephen's Cathedral.

Chance.
I would store it in a stoppered bell jar.
If I could
I would know how to pick it from the hoaxes.

Happiness is
Lying in the back yard with Milo,
DVD nights with greasy takeaway and blankets,
Nougat, tea, friends and laughs,
When there is no need for anything to make the moment better.

Where has ajc gone?

Volatile.

One word to describe yourself.
(I'm still thinking about it)

The colour of skim milk
Glutted my sight when the lens stopped focusing.
The skin
An imaginary jaundiced dullness.
I don't hear the modem redialing anymore
I don't notice the silence either.
It's like being submerged in the bath-
The only sound you hear is the muted eerieness of water brushing against acrylic.

When another set of red lights means more thinking time,
And your stilettoed lumbering gait up the stairs reek of catatonia.
When the mobile wakes you rudely with wild vibrations
And you think of yet another excuse, followed obediently with a grownup-type rationalisation.

Today someone teased me with wonders of travel.
Over a cigarette she spoke of her secret passageway out of this humming madness.
In strict confidence she lit my eyes with routes of excitement.
Tomorrow was supposed to be my last Friday,
I thought as the milk crate left kite-like marks on my trousers.

Tomorrow I will type away.
Before the last party-pie day
I will weed the drowsiness.

Desperately seeking days of bronzed orange and nights of diamond-encrusted skies.