a sweet house in Thornbury
Above my head looms a piece of orange and white striped twine, and from it hang postcards and art, coasters and business cards, photographs and illustrations.
Next to me is a flowering gum, picked from a shrub near my house, sitting in a bottle I bought in Brighton a few weeks ago. There's a half-crocheted granny square from Brown Owls, a mandarin and an apple.
I can see the words "instol", a Romanian misspelling of install, on a receipt by our neighbours' friend who put an antenna on our roof. We now have television. I keep forgetting.
There's a poetry zine I picked up at a bar in Fitzroy the other night while enjoying mulled wine and hot chocolate with Kris.
Nearby sits an envelope. Inside is a DVD and some brochures about a woman who I'm writing a story about for Eternity. She's about to go to Rwanda.
There's a half-used Moleskine notebook, a stapler, speakers, a glass, a bookmark, a pen, a handful of bobby pins and some wooden owls.
This is my desk, in my new room, in my new-ish house, in my new-ish life in Melbourne.
I realised the other day my mail redirection service has ended. Bit of a bummer really, given I haven't really got around to notifying people of my new address.
But it gave me a moment to reflect on the whole idea of redirection. I realised my mail has been redirected, but so has my heart.
I actually feel like Melbourne is home now. I love this place, even its strange cloudy, grey days. And the people, well, they're swell. I feel like there's enough going on that I won't be too listless, and the times when I'm free are a blessing.
I've also come to accept that I'm a fairweather cyclist. If it's too cold or raining, Gavin sits on the porch, and the tram ticket comes out. And that's ok.
Work is great. I feel like I'm in a rhythm now, although semester is about to end, and so the rhythm will inevitably change as the students drift. But with drifting comes opportunity for regrouping in new ways. I'm hoping to host regular breakfasts and mid-week hangouts in the uni break. Sometimes I feel like no one understands what I actually do for work. And that's ok.
So take this picture of my desk. Things on it will shift, and mandarins will be eaten, flowering gums will wilt. Crochet will be also attempted, notebooks filled up, poetry read and glasses filled. And life will go on.