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why is it that getting on a plane feels so much more threatening, like a permanent exit? it's just over a week away and unlike any farewell since september, it's a goodbye that's pushing me into a little ball of stressed mania. i prefer trains, better, walking away, i even quite enjoy leaving, as a concept, but not like this.

i have friends here that should be in sydney. my brothers are great. i'm gonna be an auntie soon. stoked. i'm also probably not going to see them again for a while. i'm here now, and the trick is to let myself be present in the busy city heat, the smog that sticks to your skin, the quirky accents of passers by including the postman who walked past this morning, freestyling his way down the road like i used to do when i was five.

stranger in a strange land anxiety shouldn't happen here, unless as i secretly suspect it's my psychological antipathy to having something resembling a social life. funny sort of anarchist, no? or it's the fact that the foreignness is only a half-rendered condition. like that syndrome whereby really human-like things are scary. whatever that's called. i read it somewhere.

i did find a bike. she helps.