but the people here are strange. they carry themselves differently. they wear less clothes. they're more relaxed but less voracious. i eye them suspiciously.
it's a familiar space but i don't know...
and the yoghurt on my breakfast is all wrong. i want brassé yoghurt to spill over my food; a creamy wave in my morning ritual. but this margaret river stuff doesn't cut it. this should not seem important, but it does.
and there's space. boundless space. this house is a suburb, each room a new street. my room is bigger than i need it to be. so i'm emptying suitcases and bags to fill it, but it's still lacking something.
the heat is not so difficult. i can't feel it. i liked that my washing dried so quickly. and there's a pile of woolens on my floor which i'll wash and dry today. this is me in sorting mode. adjusting to this space, remembering how to fit, but also questioning if i want to.
i haven't emailed him.
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