I am writing to you from that dumpling house in Clifton Hole (well, technically in North Fitzroy because it’s on the north side of Queens Parade). I had a hankering for dumplings and thought I’d just go for fuckin’ broke but I already made a faux pas I hope I remember never to make again, of ordering way too many dumplings (15!) as a single serve alongside vegetable noodles. Oh well. Everything at the moment seems like practice for making a mess somewhere else and this is pretty minor in the scheme of things. I’m getting some to take away. What on earth will I do with them, who knows. I know – I’ll take them on the plane with me.
Today was one of those fraught days of doing dumb things I had to do like getting travel insurance etc etc boring. I have barely slept (three hours; I did a graveyard on RRR last night and only slept from about 6:30 to 9:30 this morning, which was annoying but I can’t be surprised). I also hope that I might be able to not sleep tonight, so I can sleep comprehensively on the plane tomorrow, and not have to read all those fucking detective novels I have stored up to deflect boredom and then cast off ASAP.
I was hungry, having barely eaten today (two piece of toast and a smoothie, unless I ate a massive thing I’ve forgotten about) but now, in the warmth of this establishment and the irritating nature of the people who are here with me, I am not that hungry any longer. I will just have to cope with irritating people and overwarmed establishments I guess and so it’s all good training.
I am stunningly unimpressed by this trip and all I really want to do is write, and I don’t really care that much where I do it. I know how that sounds -