Look I don't want to go into detail but I seem to be falling apart a bit, getting dates terribly wrong and making hideous mistakes in print, etc, I sincerely hope this is due to the stresses of close-to-end-of-semester (Freud, or at least my ignorant conception of him, would proabably say yeah, it is, particularly since one of the big mistakes I made was misjudging the actual end of semester by a week). What do I do dear diary? Well, I suppose I take solace from the fact that the whole kaboodle will be over in three tiny little days. It is my last trip to Geelong tomorrow - even though in fact I should be going next week as well but I have already announced that I am not gonna - and I'm already far more in the mindset of my new job.
I took Judy out to have a piss (she did) and there were bats flying over the house, which was so cool. It's grand living around here. I feel sorry for the 20 million minus 9 thousand Australians who don't have the pleasure of doing so.
I said I didn't want to go into detail but one of the errors I made was turning up at Eaglemont a week earlier than I should have for a short walking tour I was supposed to be conducting. I hung around an hour marking essays as it was a very nice day it really didn't matter. Except I feel like a dufus. But I was able to visit the so-called Homestead Reserve (above) which is always a pleasure. It has special status on a number of levels as a combination rear access driveway/parkland/community space dating back almost 90 years now. I'm into it.
I'm still reading Dead Europe. I'm about a third of the way through and as could probably be predicted, I have pretty mixed feelings about it. One of them is probably my inability (lack of imagination I guess) to forget that narrator Isaac is not Christos Tsiolkas necessarily (or more importantly is not intended by the author to present a rational, empathic protagonist). I find Isaac pretty annoying, or at least, I have virtually no sympathy for him. Perhaps none whatsoever. I love Tsiolkas' writing most of the time however. If I could write like that I would be pretty smug. I'm not saying he is. But he should feel free to be.