Working it Out
So, sixty days into getting on a plane for Australia, I think I may be finally feeling somewhat sane again.
This whirlwind has been amazing, but today is the first day that I have sat down, at two thirty in the afternoon, outside, with a glass of wine and settled in to write. I've already done laundry, hung up some paintings, and it isn't yet time to cook dinner. I am not feeling overwhelmed or tired or restless and actually want to be doing exactly what it is I am doing. I have job applications out for part-time work at the University of Newcastle, have a lead on a job as an usher at a local theater and have friends I am practicing Japanese with. My boyfriend continues to be lovely.
I am trying to do a self-imposed NaNoWriMo for March, and so far am failing horribly by the terms of the plan (50,000 words in one month) but am doing better in terms of personal goals (trying to establish a habit of sitting down to write). I think an exterior goal is necessary since I've had such a hard time with establishing a routine and a schedule for the past month. Moving internationally while moving in with your boyfriend at the same time is... interesting. Also involves an epic number of errands and I am still mostly a pedestrian and haven't yet made the jump to autonomously driving our manual convertible on the wrong side of the road. (I don't seem to do things by halves. The only thing that would make this shift back to driving more difficult would be if I'd chosen a larger city.) I think we may finally have most of the stuff we need, and things are every so achingly slowly settling into place.
The beach here is by far and away the most glorious thing I have ever seen, and I am sad each and every day that I don't make it down to at least look at the waves. They were angry and vicious yesterday, destroying many of the young competitors at SurfFest. I have a plan to go surfing with some locals, but if that does not materialize soon enough I may simply go sign up for a course. If I can keep from having to go to the doctor for a month, I think I might get a handle on my life. (I've had a persistent issue, which although not threatening, has made EVERYTHING about a billion and forty times harder, bloody hell, not what I needed grumble).
Come visit me. Or write to me. I have a post box for mail which I find super charming and actually have THREE replies to lovely people to write.
And for those of you who might keep me in line: My word count is currently 2400. No, LJ doesn't count.
This whirlwind has been amazing, but today is the first day that I have sat down, at two thirty in the afternoon, outside, with a glass of wine and settled in to write. I've already done laundry, hung up some paintings, and it isn't yet time to cook dinner. I am not feeling overwhelmed or tired or restless and actually want to be doing exactly what it is I am doing. I have job applications out for part-time work at the University of Newcastle, have a lead on a job as an usher at a local theater and have friends I am practicing Japanese with. My boyfriend continues to be lovely.
I am trying to do a self-imposed NaNoWriMo for March, and so far am failing horribly by the terms of the plan (50,000 words in one month) but am doing better in terms of personal goals (trying to establish a habit of sitting down to write). I think an exterior goal is necessary since I've had such a hard time with establishing a routine and a schedule for the past month. Moving internationally while moving in with your boyfriend at the same time is... interesting. Also involves an epic number of errands and I am still mostly a pedestrian and haven't yet made the jump to autonomously driving our manual convertible on the wrong side of the road. (I don't seem to do things by halves. The only thing that would make this shift back to driving more difficult would be if I'd chosen a larger city.) I think we may finally have most of the stuff we need, and things are every so achingly slowly settling into place.
The beach here is by far and away the most glorious thing I have ever seen, and I am sad each and every day that I don't make it down to at least look at the waves. They were angry and vicious yesterday, destroying many of the young competitors at SurfFest. I have a plan to go surfing with some locals, but if that does not materialize soon enough I may simply go sign up for a course. If I can keep from having to go to the doctor for a month, I think I might get a handle on my life. (I've had a persistent issue, which although not threatening, has made EVERYTHING about a billion and forty times harder, bloody hell, not what I needed grumble).
Come visit me. Or write to me. I have a post box for mail which I find super charming and actually have THREE replies to lovely people to write.
And for those of you who might keep me in line: My word count is currently 2400. No, LJ doesn't count.