Giddy, fickle, flighty, and thoughtless

I keep waiting for it to all slow down. The big exhale where you catch your breath and go, “hey, so that’s what it’s like.” I don’t like my chances.

Perth has a reputation for being one of the most laid-back places on earth and, whenever I feel suffocated, I need only to amble down to the corner shop and eye one of the dubious looking pies behind the counter before the owner glances up from the paper. After the obligatory short discussion on the Dockers’ inexplicable ability to shoot themselves in the foot he offers, “Yair mate, but we both knew that. What can I getcha?” And so I get a coffee and a cherry ripe and usually the sun is shining outside and people say “Hello” to you on the street and by the time I make it home I feel good about everything again.

But providence is fickle. As the expectation of getting away with using both the words “providence” and “fickle” in a single sentence. Fickle expectation? I’m sure an English teacher somewhere is frothing at the mouth.

Before the Easter break, while I stood knee-deep in deadlines and spent evenings pushing pixels and taming vectors in preparation for an excursion southward, I had an interesting afternoon visit. The postie weaved his way up our path on his bike and, rather than get off, skyhooked a heavy bundle of letters onto the verandah. They made a comforting thump and then scrkcccccckccchted their way along the ground, before coming to rest against the door where I sat looking on. Cheers, matey.

Amongst them was a heavy express-post envelope itself stuffed with further official looking manila envelopes. One of the contained an offer for a job. So that would be the providence? Possibly. Inefficiency? Maybe. Unexpected? Definitely.

And from here, I would gather that it’s time to suit up and move on. More updates from the front.

Posted in Mwah on Wednesday April 11, 2007.