Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Kate said my last post was very poorly written, which is true for most of my posts these days, so from now on, I am going to make an effort to write logically and think systematically. (Something the Usyd Chair of Chinese said I needed to work on... what happened to my brain at the end of highschool?)
This morning I woke up knowing that the agency would not call me with work. The chatter of Jochen and Shani in the kitchen aroused me at about 8.30 when I decided that my vivid dream of moving to the more expensive on-campus student appartments this year so that I could finally get involved in campus life (and put it on my resume somehow) and arrive at self-fulfilment, said more about my psyche than most dreams had in the recent past.
Shani and I threw around some ideas as to how I should spend my precious day off. Her suggestion that I should use the slow-cooker (8 hours) to make my lamb casserole/stew/concoction was well received, and I proceeded forth to the supermarket to buy the required veges. Finding myself absolutely fed up with crawling through the boot to open the car door from the inside, I resolved to call my sister Yasmin, and devise a serious plan of action to get it fixed, with the help of her husband Larry and his auto-expertise.
But now, I reveal a secret ritual that noone as of the present is aware of. Whenever I go to Royal Randwick shopping centre, I get a flat white from DCM. In the past, I would attempt to drive home with it, without spilling it. This worked perhaps once or twice. After the huge spill on my pink car seat cover, I decided to never again engage in such tomfoolery. The secret ritual involves doing the shopping, buying the coffee, then sitting in my car, in the car park, listening to music, and drinking the coffee slowly. It's not the most romantic place to be drinking a coffee. In fact this morning the heat in the carpark was stifling. But there you have my secret ritual. Oh, and there's something else - instead of taking the empty cup back in the car to chuck out later, I open my door, and leave it on the ground, for the cleaner top clean up. Mwah hah hah.
I have two more 'major' activities planned for the day:
1. Jog to Coogee and back, hoping that stopping at street lights, (there are of course none of these at Centennial Park) will not tempt me to stop altogether.
2. Read the new book I bought the other day in Balmain after most recklessly spending $30 on a random CD, called "The History of Love".
The the subject of love, in fact, recalls to memory my chat with Suitor #1, from that trip to Balmain. He told me he was writing a play. I asked him what it was about, and he gave the response to beat all other responses: "About love". That went down quite well, as well as a flat white in a stifling shopping centre carpark in Randwick ever could. ¶ 10:21
This morning I woke up knowing that the agency would not call me with work. The chatter of Jochen and Shani in the kitchen aroused me at about 8.30 when I decided that my vivid dream of moving to the more expensive on-campus student appartments this year so that I could finally get involved in campus life (and put it on my resume somehow) and arrive at self-fulfilment, said more about my psyche than most dreams had in the recent past.
Shani and I threw around some ideas as to how I should spend my precious day off. Her suggestion that I should use the slow-cooker (8 hours) to make my lamb casserole/stew/concoction was well received, and I proceeded forth to the supermarket to buy the required veges. Finding myself absolutely fed up with crawling through the boot to open the car door from the inside, I resolved to call my sister Yasmin, and devise a serious plan of action to get it fixed, with the help of her husband Larry and his auto-expertise.
But now, I reveal a secret ritual that noone as of the present is aware of. Whenever I go to Royal Randwick shopping centre, I get a flat white from DCM. In the past, I would attempt to drive home with it, without spilling it. This worked perhaps once or twice. After the huge spill on my pink car seat cover, I decided to never again engage in such tomfoolery. The secret ritual involves doing the shopping, buying the coffee, then sitting in my car, in the car park, listening to music, and drinking the coffee slowly. It's not the most romantic place to be drinking a coffee. In fact this morning the heat in the carpark was stifling. But there you have my secret ritual. Oh, and there's something else - instead of taking the empty cup back in the car to chuck out later, I open my door, and leave it on the ground, for the cleaner top clean up. Mwah hah hah.
I have two more 'major' activities planned for the day:
1. Jog to Coogee and back, hoping that stopping at street lights, (there are of course none of these at Centennial Park) will not tempt me to stop altogether.
2. Read the new book I bought the other day in Balmain after most recklessly spending $30 on a random CD, called "The History of Love".
The the subject of love, in fact, recalls to memory my chat with Suitor #1, from that trip to Balmain. He told me he was writing a play. I asked him what it was about, and he gave the response to beat all other responses: "About love". That went down quite well, as well as a flat white in a stifling shopping centre carpark in Randwick ever could. ¶ 10:21
