My wristwatch has laid on my nightstand for week. On Saturday, my bag was a missing element of an evening out. I own more than one collared shirt. My pair of Hush Puppies are casual.
The flat is one of ThoughtWorks’ service apartments. It’s mine for a month, or until I move, whichever comes first. Newtown, Paddington, Surrey Hills and Redfern all sound nice.
The job? Obviously, I got it, as they’re putting me up. It’s all I hoped. I want to be all they hoped.
Sydney is new. It’s exciting, of course; but, everything is new. Thursday night held my first bout of loneliness. It passed on the ferry to Manly. Pacing through the full passenger deck, from fore to aft and back again, watching the receding lights of my new city filled with exactly what I think I want: no one I know. My heartbeat accelerated, fueled by all the doubts I left behind in Los Angeles.
I tried to displace them with a narrative of the ferry capsizing. Climbing a lighthouse, an exhausted body found on the rails underneath the lamp. I eavesdropped on a couple of bike couriers sitting on a deck below. I didn’t intrude, avoiding those familiar terms. Instead I resolved to, by the end of the evening, have weekend commitments.
Goals and plans allay me.