Truthfully? I'm not that upset anyway. I can't summon up the outrage. I just feel too happy, too fortunate, too blessed in friendship. It's just going on 7 am on a Monday morning here, and I heard a seagull shriek softly as it flew by outside. I hear faint snoring from Dan and Stewart's room upstairs. I'm curled up on the leather couch in the living room, typing on the living room computer (there's a laptop in every room, because Stewart is a technological utopian), wearing my new satin jammies purchased during the emergency supply run to Victoria Gardens yesterday. I bought a pair of undies, these pajamas (I'm down another size, hooray!), and a toothbrush. Qantas should be delivering my suitcase today. Fingers crossed that the laptop and the D-80 are all right -- that's really all I care about.
Dan and Stew live in a Victorian-era row house on McKean Street in the suburb of Fitzroy North. On our way home from buying my necessities, we went down to the nearest take-away for fish and chips, because that's what I was craving for lunch. All the people who run the shops know Dan and Stewart by name. It was like living in the song "Penny Lane," for crying out loud.
At this moment, Dora is torn between being suspicious of me and trying to entice me into playing with her. Dora is a lovely cat, oh, and here comes someone down the stairs? Ah no, just to the bathroom. I would hate to wake anyone up. Anyway, Dora is a lovely cat with soft, longish hair, a collar that jingles, and, because she was not raised by me, a complete lack of neuroses. She has a little basket of tiny toy mice made from scraps of fur that sits atop one of the tall speakers that flank the (absolutely awesome, enormous, flat-screen HD) telly, and she likes to sit next to the basket and delicately fish out each mouse and and fling it to the stairs, say, or the rug, or the hallway, until the basket is empty and she is surrounded by an artful composition of seemingly randomly placed wee furry mice.
It's wonderful to see Hana Peeve (Dan's dog, so named because she is his pet, Peeve) again. She's older. Her muzzle is going white, and she moves slowly, but she is as vocal as ever, chivvying and cajoling for her treats with her completely inimitable throaty half-growling, half-howling language. Yesterday I laid down on the rug and snuggled with her. She's that kind of dog. Her face and her eyes are sweet, intelligent, appealing.
Not sure what today will bring -- I'm anxious to get out and walk around the neighborhood, but until I get some slightly warmer clothes and my camera, I'll likely stay inside and read and enjoy Dan and Stewart's company and tease Dora and cuddle with Hana Peeve and read some more and drink hot tea and nervously await what Dan and Stewart are calling my "Melbourne booty call" but is actually simply meeting a fellow I know from a few email exchanges for coffee and conversation. And so what if he's really cute and I am not thinking about the possibility of hot vacation sex AT ALL, leave me alone!
We already have tickets to go see the musical Wicked and the movie The Dark Knight (at the Imax theater!) and now the sun is coming up (oh my God, y'all, it's winter here and the sun is going down at 5:30 pm and I LOVE it), so I'm off. If all goes well, I will soon have my camera, and pictures will accompany future entries.
Love to all,