I started writing in a diary about 7 years ago, and occasionally get hardcore about it. I don’t have very interesting diary entries, its mostly about how exhausted I am or I find something hilarious or symbolic or strange.
I don’t have much time to write about all the weird things I see on the street because I’d have to pullover, and get out my diary and take a good 5 minutes to write it down, which a bike messenger doesn’t have time for. So my diary isn’t as interesting as you think it would be.
Sometimes I feel I have profound thoughts and explore them by writing them down, but when you look back at them seem childish and forced. The perfect thing about diaries isn’t about how neat your writing is, or how groundbreaking your thoughts are, its that each sentence is a capsulation of time and memories you would of forgotten.
Friday 26th July
Freezing Friday night, I have 4 jackets on, and I am on the last ferry home, somewhat drunk after hanging out on Observatory Hill, it has an unencumbered view of the Harbor bridge but also a perfectly unprotected point for the wind to beat at your chest.
Monday Morning 29th June
2 Months before we leave. We are money scared, I can feel the ripple of fear. We both are ballistic spenders and our money will dwindle faster then we expect. I am not sure of our frugal abilities
I really need to poo, but I’m just logging on so I might have to wait till 20 Hunter. Bed has been so comfortable lately, like it is cruelly reminding us what we will be leaving
I am mid way through my regular morning jobs, I’m standing at the post window at Broadway Shopping Center, I feel pretty energized today which is great.
It’s 10.30, it’s a quiet day which is great and terrible, but the greatness is quickly diminished by the terribleness.
Bambi missed the ferry, I waved as I sailed away. I laughed a little but then I saw him throw his helmet. As I turned into the warm cabin to sit down I laughed a little more.
Its been very hard to get up in the mornings, I sleep in till 6.15, a half hour later then normal. There is a mist this morning, the sun is shining past the sky scrapers of North Sydney like rays of Godish light.
Thursday 2nd July 2015
Work currently seems easier or more interesting, the jobs are well placed and I get a level of rest as well. I am on the ferry by the window.
The sky is pink and blue this morning, it looked cold and sophisticated, like a European sky.
Dan is using my bag today, I am using his to see if the cross strap system helps with his dislocated shoulder.
He made the lunch this morning, getting up early so I got to experience the empty bed he usually hogs. He creeps closer and closer to snuggle as I reach for fresh air and by the morning the entire bed is behind him.
So I experienced the bed alone with cold air rolling over my face from the open window. The 5 degree air is beautiful on my heated skin.
Monday 6th July
We have been buying all our trip things, we have only some clothing to purchase.
I went walking with Anna on Saturday, it was liberating to have an intensely personal talk about happiness, freedoms and secrets to a woman while we walked lightly through a healthy forest, almost primal experience.
This lift smells like fart
Tuesday 7th July
Tim told me a story about his younger brother being down from the Blue Mountains and wondering how he should get to Glebe. Tim offered him his bike and his brother said a decisive ‘yeah, I think I will’. Tim described that as he watched him ride up the street that ‘he felt proud like a parent’. I could see the story like a picture book as he was telling it. I can easily see it as a defining moment. Like the time I borrowed a boyfriend’s bike and it felt comfortable and fast and so right that I see it as a pivotal experience. I felt cool and happy and sexy. I hope he felt that too.
Wednesday 8th July
Soon it will be August and we will be leaving, soon Sydney will become a memory like London. Where the streets meld into one to create a general picture instead of the intricacy that we know it now, we will forget the fine lines.
Thursday 9th July
Thursday morning, I have energy, I am skipping coffee trying to rid myself of the need to drink it.
Thursday afternoon and the quietest day I have ever had at Mailcall.
I had a bad reaction to a Police man; I reacted poorly to him telling me to wait as the elderly woman finished crossing the road, I was already waiting. It didn’t need my reaction either though, ‘yeah mate! I can see!’ and he told me to calm down and I just threw an arm in the air and rode of telling the air loudly what a dick he was. I thought about it for a while afterwards. I blamed myself for being a short tempered person at first. Then I thought about the number of terrible experiences I have had with police officers. How unpleasant and rude they have been to me and my friends, I have many bad experiences and it easy to see how I have gotten to a place where I hate all the police on the beat. My built up frustration from my experiences was why the same attude was so quick to come up. I am sure they get it a lot, and it made me think of how a person cycling gets it too. A driver who has a bad experience with a person riding a bike inflicts that same attitude to other cyclists. It’s a circular world.
Saturday 11th July
A storm is rolling through, I am lying in bed propped up on my pillows, the old wooden window is open a small amount so I can hear the thunder and feel the cold air on my neck like a cold breath. Dan is in the front room, the cozy closed in patio with a warm couch, a heater, a blanket and a small leak in the roof. I imagine he is finding peace there with the door closed, I imagine him listening to the storm too, and it deepening his peace. It is 8.30 on a Saturday night. In the family room there is surging orchestral music and sword fighting from the movie Mum, Dad and my brother are watching. Left over dinner is on the stove getting stone cold, the wet, cold darkness is very far removed, there is safety here.
It makes me think about how safety will come from different sources when we are cycling in foreign areas, knowing no one and recognizing nothing. Safety now is a full belly and a warm bed, and I imagine it will turn into finding safety in a forest and a clear sky.
Sunday 12th July
The weeks are few and our list of things left to do is minimal;
Adjusting our bikes,
Sell the left over items we aren’t taking with us
Buy bottle cages
Translate a message into a couple of different languages to help people understand what the hell we are doing in their remote village with 2 bikes heavily loaded with all our possessions.