conjure

I love being caught bad weather delays at airports ... there's no responsibility ... you can just respond.

I feel like going on a road trip interstate. I want to get in my car (if I had one, and if I did, it would have heating) and drive south along the familiar pacific highway for the first few hours, changing lanes with muscle memory, and then move into unfamiliar territory ...

I'd take the road further into places I haven't driven for years, through Grafton and Coffs Harbour, blanketed by night and the endless blinding lights of semi-trailers that own the road at 3am. I'd stop in at a McDonalds and get a 24hour coffee and drive on through the darkness with Lily Allen playing and then maybe Devil Driver ... just to remind myself of some good old days.

I'd eventually hit Sydney though, and I've been there ... a lot. One day I'll make it past there again in the car, when Sydney, my second home, becomes un-attractive again. For now I'd arrive at my fathers house at 9am, scrubbing eyes and shaking head. I'd greet him as he pulls into the driveway behind me, home from a graveyard shift at the Kurnell refinery. We'd sit together at the kitchen table, too excited by each other's company to sleep, but too wired to discuss any real world matters at length. We'd call it a day at around 10am, and I'd take my things to the usual place: one of the rooms set aside for mature guests and unpack into the dresser.

Later that day I'd wake to my father bringing me a cup of tea and we'd talk about his guitar and my studies. We'd enjoy the peaceful time we'd have together before his wife came home, and he had to leave for work again.

I'd then shut my door, set up my laptop, log onto SuicideGirls and converse with you fine people.


...In July this will be a reality. Except that I'll be catching a plane down, which is an offer I'd hell yes in a heartbeat before driving that long stretch alone.

At Daeos' amazing house the other night
Daeos


Me


There are magical photos of Dye that I'd love to put online here ... but I'm not going to


Dinner at Harcourt St
Kea, and I


This is how I write - circle breathing endless cigarettes, pyjamas, and scribbles on a notepad and all the distractions of the world around the muse me.

Conjure: taking notes for her upcoming screenplay, a personal project about the Scottish mother from hell; non-fiction.