Picking things up and putting things down

Not many words around these parts lately. No new pxts. I'm taking lots of photos lately but I've not posted them here. I'm picking things up and putting them down again. Wandering about. Restless. Bored. I think that's it - I'm bored. It happens so rarely in my life it's taken a while to figure it out.

It's not like I'm not busy. Because I am. But I'm not doing what I want to be doing. Not doing it with with who I want to do it with. Heh, though in saying that Klie tells me that's not "bored" but "impatient". He may be right.

Everything feels so transitional. Between. Corridor'y. Pick a door, any door - c'mon Michelle.

Can you get 'flu in your shoulders? I think my shoulders have the 'flu.

So it's Saturday. It's sunny. Last of the summer weather, I suspect. While other parts of the country seem to have had frosts this morning, the sun was up and beaming early here in the City of Sails and it was quite hot walking around Bucklands Beach.

I was thinking I need to inject some adventure into my weekends beyond alternating cheering Ferdinand Alonso around the track and trying to get Brent Webb to notice me - though tomorrow's gonna be good with a Warriors home game *and* the Bahrain Grand Prix.

Cheese and crackers, Grommet; I have a "to do" list - I have to produce some artwork too. Registered to exhibit in the Affordable Art Show this year and still with not an inkling of anything to show. And planned to go to Wellington for the opening. Oh, *plus* needing to produce enough work to share an exhibition space in November. OH, and a school reunion in June/July [read: booze-up in New Plymouth]. Plus teaching classes at the local college again next term [probably]. Plus the other bits-and-pieces I do each week and that pesky thing called "work" that takes my time away from everything else.


I want to go live on the West Coast of Australia. Where my cost of living will be something like: the price of milk and good coffee. Where the sands are soft and white, and the Indian Ocean has nothing scary in it. [shush - no salt-water crocodiles or sharks or snakes or box-jellyfish - this is my dream] On a quiet crescent of a beach, with a house with no walls and lots of bright coloured fabrics and furnishings. With a beautifully spaceous studio looking out over the water and fresh fruit for lunch. And definately no mosquitoes or other biting creepy crawlies.

Okay, yeh, I don't know what I want. Well I do, but I don't know how to go about getting it.

What should I do to give myself a kick in the butt and out of this feeling of transition?

[looking at Old Jam I'm thinking this restlessness is typical and seasonal]