It seems like I’m keeping time lately by a never-ending tide of broken things – wardrobe panels, computer monitors, hot water systems and so on – it’s not that they’re broken that bothers me, so much as the time-drain and the way it restricts my movement. Much of my rationale for changing to working part-time was that the non-work time would be my own – instead, again, it’s somebody else’s. »
i can’t get used to my new world yet and i start screaming. Shonen Knife, Fish Eyes. i can feel the time slipping away as certain things happen a second time. It’s all about time – time on hold, time describing the problem, time waiting for replacement bits of wood. I should, of course, be able to make good use of this waiting time, if only I could stop worrying about how time’s slipping away. »
a new pair of levi’s, a long mac and a lamington(!) at the lb. cafe. it’s just the way it goes. »
anywhere but here. another shopping centre, too many people, furniture that has become more and more complicated despite those low, low prices. you wanna pay in cash or sweat? now i find out i’ve even gotta drill my own fucking holes in the doors. where did all the time go? and the feeling. the allen key’s long gone. everything’s extra. no matter which way you step, you’re in somebody else’s way. »
She’s got gold on both wrists, a Winfield red in one hand as she browses a fat, glossy fashion mag outside this café. But that’s how it is ’round here. I drink tea and read my book, feeling silly for forgetting the keys to the office. On the way home, I pass yet another house-being-worked on (this suburb is renovation town, after all), as a Divinyls song leaks from a radio somewhere. »