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From my paper journal:
Kings Cross in the rain at dawn, the walk to Darlinghurst and breakfast at bills -- scrambled eggs, weheat toast and coconut bread, all of which is some sort of reason enough to move here. Perhaps unbelieveably, this is the most ecstatically lovely thing I've done since getting here, sitting at the communal table listeng to Bebel Gilberto and Cole Porter on the stereo, everytihng light wood and clean white. In the middle of the table is a huge black iron dish, slightly boweled and raised up on a small base and filled with a gorgeous stack of brown eggs. The french doors are open and it is clear everyone here is a regular but me. This is the movie magic moment in Australia, and fitting I suppose that unlike New York, it should happen in daylight.
I joked to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rahalia_cat that jetlag breeds creative genius. I didn't expect to be right. No matter how late I go to sleep, I can't sleep past 5:30am, and while this is probably not a permanent condition, it's pretty damn sexy.
So my way here, I was feeling all brilliant in that I've got the whole Kings Cross/Darlinghurst street map down, in large part due to my dubious adventures of the other day. And then of course, I'm walking back from bills, and I'm looking up at the iron work on the second storey of buildings which I've not really done before, and because I don't recognize the damn buildings from this vantage, guess who walks right past Darlinghurst Road (necessary for me to get back to CityRail) and right into the cul de sac on Darley Street (which graned is like another 20 feet away), and doesn't notice it until I smack into a building (er, fence)? Literally, smack into a building. I am _such_ a looser.
BUT, what makes it funniest is one of the exercises we were doing yesterday is "sorry" where you enter the room expecting one thing, find something else, and say "I'm sorry", with none of that internal information specifically provided to teh audience except via your entrance, line and exit. It's an exercise that's tricky for me, but ohhoho, I've got it now, yeah?
Random trivia -- low-end chocolate here is _crazy_ expensive -- like kitkats and the like are $2.50 if you're lucky.
Off to school.
Kings Cross in the rain at dawn, the walk to Darlinghurst and breakfast at bills -- scrambled eggs, weheat toast and coconut bread, all of which is some sort of reason enough to move here. Perhaps unbelieveably, this is the most ecstatically lovely thing I've done since getting here, sitting at the communal table listeng to Bebel Gilberto and Cole Porter on the stereo, everytihng light wood and clean white. In the middle of the table is a huge black iron dish, slightly boweled and raised up on a small base and filled with a gorgeous stack of brown eggs. The french doors are open and it is clear everyone here is a regular but me. This is the movie magic moment in Australia, and fitting I suppose that unlike New York, it should happen in daylight.
I joked to
rahalia_cat that jetlag breeds creative genius. I didn't expect to be right. No matter how late I go to sleep, I can't sleep past 5:30am, and while this is probably not a permanent condition, it's pretty damn sexy.So my way here, I was feeling all brilliant in that I've got the whole Kings Cross/Darlinghurst street map down, in large part due to my dubious adventures of the other day. And then of course, I'm walking back from bills, and I'm looking up at the iron work on the second storey of buildings which I've not really done before, and because I don't recognize the damn buildings from this vantage, guess who walks right past Darlinghurst Road (necessary for me to get back to CityRail) and right into the cul de sac on Darley Street (which graned is like another 20 feet away), and doesn't notice it until I smack into a building (er, fence)? Literally, smack into a building. I am _such_ a looser.
BUT, what makes it funniest is one of the exercises we were doing yesterday is "sorry" where you enter the room expecting one thing, find something else, and say "I'm sorry", with none of that internal information specifically provided to teh audience except via your entrance, line and exit. It's an exercise that's tricky for me, but ohhoho, I've got it now, yeah?
Random trivia -- low-end chocolate here is _crazy_ expensive -- like kitkats and the like are $2.50 if you're lucky.
Off to school.
