gone was the year

my year ends on a low. have been a bit down these last few weeks. perdu. numbness.

this morning i struggled to get out of bed. i needed someone to enter the room with those medical shock implements that look like irons. "clear!" zap.

but i was forced to drag myself up and out of bed.

life begins in 2 weeks. in sydney. i haven't used my diary for the last month as i haven't needed to. i think this is my problem. nothing to plan my time around. just blank days.

(now playing: always crashing in the same car - david bowie)

i'm starting to assemble my things in the spare room for packing. some of my stuff is already boxed, has been since june, since leaving thorn st. i'm hoping that part of my sadness will be eased by the unpacking of boxes. yet i suspect a large part of it relates to the absence of thorn st.

i try to be tough and unsentimental but it's not easy. i have to pretend that i don't need things and places to prop me up. that's definately not easy. my boxes, my memories; they're heavy but necessary.

i write this from my old table in the front room of bull st. surrounded by an empty bookcase, an unhanged picture of mouchette, my couch... this room is the least used. my furniture, dust and quiet.

i'd like to feel at home at bull st, but can't. though maybe i've never really tried.