The Tragic Inevitability of the Passage of Time

The sun is out, the wind is warm, and Australian summer is on its way. Blustering breezes and blistering heat* propel us along Heidelberg Road as we cycle towards Parkville, bags full of books and eyes on the sky. It is getting increasingly difficult to study when the world outside the library window is such bright blue.

Despite having reached the final week of classes, I’ve been surprisingly relaxed. This is not St Andrews. No claustrophobic cobbled streets, no gusts of wind pursuing you down them. I am so much happier in a city. And yet there are things I miss about St Andrews. I miss the small classes and knowing everyone’s name. I miss Classics and studying texts rather than Ancient History and archaeology, my subjects here. I miss my friends and the bizarre small-world sense that somehow everyone knows one another. Perhaps I am glad I was given a semester abroad rather than a year.

No. I can’t type that sentence honestly.

Since coming back from Tasmania I’ve just been living. Little else. It is so wonderful just to be. I lay in the brown-sugar sand at Brighton Beach and swam in the Tasman Sea. I explored the painted, café-crowded laneways near Flinders Street and ate doughnuts in the sun by the Yarra River. I danced in the train station, danced in the kitchen, danced in the laundry room. I mistook a lizard for a snake, twice, and saw my first huntsman spider. Summer is coming, and with it the beasts they all warned us about.

*25 degrees does not actually blister me. No sir. I’m just taking poetic licence. And marveling at how this isn’t even summer yet.

Winterbourne, who supported Patrick James when I saw him live back in August, have released their first music video! They are up and coming and kept talking about how much they hated Geelong (a nearby city which is not, to my shame, pronounced the way it looks), having had an unenthusiastic crowd at their gig the night before. Have a listen. They're pretty fab, and Geelong evidently didn't appreciate their talents.

Lewd and crude, this week's instalment of Top Quotes contains three whole swears. Cover your eyes and ears, young children.

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“Nobody should be self-conscious about how they look. I
don’t care if you walk into the room with a boat on your head like Marie
Antoi-fucking-nette, I won’t judge you.”

Through a mouthful of someone else’s food: “Why would you
leave chips in the Games Room if you don’t want them to get stolen? Like, come
on. You had to see this coming. It’s not my
fault. Get your shit together.”

Scrawled on a library desk: “When I die bury me next to
bitches.”