Friday, 29 July 2011

Every Day I'm Shufflin'.

The silver thing? My bathroom bag.

Left home yesterday in the nick of time. It feels like I've been let out of jail.

Currently in Melbourne, to attend Blogopolis tomorrow. Melbourne? You win. You are beautiful, and Sydney is a stinky smokestack in comparison. Tomorrow I'll be talking on a panel with problogger about the future of the Australian blogosphere. Sunday night I'm back in Sydney, staying at Woogs Mansion until we board a plane on Monday and fly to LA. The future of the Australian blogosphere? Hilarious, if Woogs has anything to do with it.

Then on to San Diego for the BlogHer Conference 2011. At some stage during San Diego I will go down to Mexico, to buy some Day of the Dead skulls. At all stages of this journey I will eat what I want, when I want it. I'll meander, dream, drink sugar-free redbull while all my mates get pissed, dance like a mofo ... and feel like I've come back to myself.

                            Eating googy eggs, yesterday morning.

I just sprawled out on my hotel room bed to type this out. Don't have to share these lightly salted chips with anyone. Don't have to wipe anybody's bumhole, mediate fights, or wake up seven times in the night to shepherd roaming children around the goddamn house. I will not be struggling to be a great wife, or stepmother, or friend.

Last night I arrived at my sister Leigh's house .. she left the key out for me because she was taking her kids to swimming lessons. I went straight to her pantry and found some Bhuja spicy peas - the same ones we used to buy from the canteen when we were kids at school in Fiji. Then I took a photo of me admiring her newly-renovated bathroom, and text it to her.

                               Still warming to your grout, Leigh.

I held those peas aloft, triumphantly. A symbol of my freedom. Maybe I am always this free - maybe I'm as free as I believe myself to be.

There is so much ahead, and as I go through the next two weeks, I'll realise exactly how much is inside.

“The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one’s own country as a foreign land.” - GK Chesterton
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