I’m back in Sydney.
The visit was almost too brief, but it was lovely: to spend some time with my family; to hang out with some good coffee; to wander around the old streets, some of which look so new now, thanks to the myriad redevelopments; to get my Vitamin D reserves up just by being outdoors (it’s not guaranteed in Sydney)…
Right then. Back to norm.
I must’ve walked past at least three former addresses yesterday. According to my Fitbit, I notched up 36,282 steps/23.48 km walking around my old neighbourhood haunts, to and from the city and back again (twice). I went to bed with a blister at the base of my heel and this morning my calves are still protesting from being overworked. Quads were already sore from the run of the previous day. I fear I may be hobbling – a little – this morning.
The recommended total daily number of steps is 10,000, by the way.
I never seem to get enough of being outside under that endless cloudless blue sky whenever I come home.
This is one of those weeks when things seem clear… Despite the fact that I’m falling asleep on the sofa at 8:15pm, less than an hour after getting home from the office. Lately I’ve been thinking how fortunate it is that I live a mere twelve minutes’ stroll from work. The apartment may be petite but it can’t be beat for convenience. Maybe I’m feeling clear-headed from all that sleep. Amen.
Rightly or wrongly, I always associate white blooms with Domestic Goddess… which is so what I’m not, however these beauties are what I currently have at home.
The weekend is upon us and once again, I am trying to fit in chores before I allow myself outdoors. Does anyone feel resentful of the full laundry basket? Do people scowl at the sight of unwashed dishes? I swear I would be quite happy to eat out every night if it meant I could do away with washing up. I dislike the fact that I spend time inspecting the bathroom sink and the counter for water stains, the detritus from the Hub’s daily beard trimming (obviously I leave no mess whatsoever – ha!), etc. And do NOT even mention the vacuum cleaner. That appliance makes me angry beyond all sense and reason. I hate vacuuming much much much more than toilet scrubbing. Now, that makes no sense at all, does it?
We live in a one-bed, one-bath apartment, tiny by suburban standards but sufficient for inner city living so I haven’t been able to justify engaging a house cleaner. Correction: I got vetoed by the Beard-Trimmer. So guess who gets stuck with the bulk of the cleaning.
That’s right. I am having a full-throated whinge.
Which brings me to the soundtrack for this post. Lanie Lane’s To The Horses. She mostly sings about man problems, but in my world, his name is Dyson.
Yesterday was quite perfect. Especially when viewed on board the ferry from Balmain, following a leisurely lunch with the bestie.
I love being in Sydney still, after all this time.
I can see my apartment building in the photo. Right in the heart of it now. It feels good.