Ive been keeping my head down since I got back from my weekend in Melbournetown. Lots of dear friends, loud music and cold beers. I didn't see enough of my friends but that will always be true. Awww...
My days were rounded out with strong coffees and late nights. Sweet town. First time Ive been to Melbourne without coming home with a bunch of books. But I went down to decorate a party at the Glasshouse Hotel. That was the official purpose of the trip.
I thought that drinks and a free flight was pretty sweet for a 45 minute decor job. I didn't even use my own gaff tape. The party was great, and it was beautiful to catch up with a crew of old friends and chatter away. Theres always so much to catch up on.
Myself and Vix got into a laughing jag on the way down and managed to being the tone down of the flight for everyone else. We had plans to have a domestic on the plane complete with loud admissions of infidelity and relationships with the same guy but we were laughing too hard amid the turbulance. And watching the wingtips waver in the air.
But since I got back I have been accidently rewiring my body clock. It started when I thought it'd be a great idea to work my way through a few epic Steven King novels. One of which was 1200 pages. It's The Stand, a tale of the end of the world as we know/knew it and what happens after. I guess its fair that it goes for 1200 pages then...
I am a total sucker for these end-of-the-world senario stories.
So Ive been consumed by these amazing stories. I don't care if you call Steven King crap or pulp or cushy escapist crap. The man can tell a story. So even if I went to bed at 11, I would still read for hours and hours, often until i fell asleep with a book in my hand. Hence why Ive been waking up late, and cursing my loss of daylight hours, then reading until 2,3 or 4am. It has strongly reminded me of the scene from Fight Club where insomnia has set in and 'everything looks like a copy of a copy'. It feels like I'll never sleep well again. I wonder how it would be to not sleep, just rest or read for eight hours instead... See, Ive been wondering shit like that. Classic ragged tired thinking...
Amid patches of productive writing time for my new zine, (which is finished, well, um, Ive just got to transcribe two interviews and print the sucker) I have been clearing out some space in my studio/workshop room. Its amazing the stuff you can collect if you have the space. Like the mental debris you find collected in the corners of a tired brain. Bring on Mardi Gras...
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