The weekend list of numbers

14 Jan
  • Number of lists created this weekend: 6
  • Number of books to read in the “list of books to read”: 22
  • Number of things to do in the “things to do list”: 15
  • Number of things done from the “things to do list”: 0
  • Number of exhibits to visit from the “art list”: 8
  • Number of steaks eaten at 10 in the morning: 1
  • Number of episodes of Dexter watched over the weekend: 2
  • Number of magazines read: 9
  • Number of kilos lost since April was fateful: 10
  • Number of meals consumed at Pellegrinis: 1
  • Number of photos taken: 0
  • Number of book outlines bashed and scrawled out: 1

Despite the pathology detailed above, it has actually been a relatively pleasant weekend. Yesterday was spent handing over the Seagull for custody with her father, a stroll down Chinatown, quick shop in my favourite Asian grocery hunting out frozen cuttlefish balls and dumplings, lunch at the always wonderful Pellegrinis where the afternoon sun dapples in like honey across the counters, waltzing around in ever wonderful circles at the nearby bookstore before lounging in joy and seclusion at home.

Surely there is no greater pleasure than an amble around the Asian grocery. New diets and meal plans are thought through and packages squeezed, pinched and poured over with fascination, amusement and inspiration.

Today has been home-bound though work and the streets call me to interact. Tonight I will partake in some cinematic brilliance (see, work of Andrew McCarthy) with the Effusive Complimenter, the Purdy Jane, Leelee Zofia and some other fine writerly folk on a rooftop in the CBD. Naturally, I shall be demanding more mojitos under the moonlight from my low slung vantage point.

I’ve not been taking photographs. This seemed to coincide with the purchase of the new camera. The impulse has been missing. Perhaps there should be a list of places to go around Melbourne and capture. I did notice a wheatpaste in progress in my ambles yesterday.

Perhaps it is due to my desire for seclusion. It always happens when people go away: it’s like they take the sun with them. All that remains is my need for hibernation. The need to hide is rather extreme – the desire to remain unseen, unspoken and undrained. This possibly explains the lack of photos: to afraid to step in front of the camera, too apathetic to view anything further than 5 feet from my face.

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