The difference a day makes

Two weeks of rain in Sydney and a bad dryer purchase brought soggy clothes and a generally damp attitude to my neighborhood recently. A new job and its new dress code mean that the clothes I had shipped from New York will be unfashionable and inappropriate by the time they arrive. I've been haunted by dreams of home despite curious lack of homesickness upon waking, and I still haven't spoken to my little brother from abroad.  My best friend is becoming the type of girl that I used to talk shit about with my best friend, which leaves me both with nobody to whisper to and so much to whisper about. Travel plans are putting up fights or falling through altogether, and as the APEC conference draws closer, more and more hippies stand outside my subway station, waving leaflets to warn me that George Bush is coming. The government let 500 prisoners out of jail for the weekend to make room for violent protesters. I have blisters. A cough that won't quit. And my hair has never been right in Australia.

Then, today, sun. The snap of clothes on the line and the wind right through them. The red and yellow of flowers where before there was just dark wet green and pavement. A new freedom from jackets in 22 degrees Celsius, and a promise of more sweaters-over-shoulders for the week ahead, newspaper says: 25-24-25-23 with sun all the time. There are dogs being walked off their leashes, tongues out and heads coming up to be scratched if you dip your fingers down to meet them. The neighbor's cat comes out from under the car and winds around my work trousers, which are dry and fresh even after walking down the block, and the sound of his purring follows me around the corner to the train.

Today there is talk of being sponsored for a more permanent visa by my current employer, which would mean a raise, and a break from month-long exile for every four months I spend in the Australian sun. There is good music in my ears, which turns the walk to lunch into a clip from a movie where the girl realizes that her life isn't so bad when her biggest problem is worrying whether she's going to spend four weeks in New Zealand or Southeast Asia this November. There's glossy hair in low humidity, all day yesterday even, after a day spent shopping in the little markets around the Rocks (overlooking the Opera House painted in crayon blue backdrop). There's the contentment of having picked out a beautiful didgeridoo for a well-loved brother and sent it in time for his birthday, despite the bittersweet knowledge of a personal absence for that celebration. There's a good guy these days, a decent man, one who has no problem admiring the things that he likes in his woman, and saying them out loud and directly to me, no matter how much I may blush and push at his shoulders in embarrassment. There's plans to go to Canberra during the APEC weekend - to travel, if even a little bit.

Standing at the end of my commute, outside the dirty subway station and breathing in the car exhaust as the pedestrian light takes its time turning green, there's a sudden surge of summer as a girl peels an orange beside me. And it's like sitting by the pool circa age ten, swinging my happy feet in the sun. There's a jeweler who smiles and waves even though I always look and never buy - a little girl singing her own song and kicking her fat legs in the shoe store.

I can't remember the last time I was this happy.

Comments

[scotty-bo]

wow that was just plain refreshing.

[Miss Britt]

Oh dear God I can't wait for my own moment of "I can't remember the last time I was this happy" again.

This is, at the very least, inspiring.

[Dan]

Aaah. That makes *me* happy.

[Adrian]

Well, sounds like a well deserved happy day!

[kelsi]

so beautiful. sometimes, things do work out, don't they? i'm stoked for you, lovely.

[little white liar]

Thank you everyone. It was even nicer to be able to write and share it.