Back again

This is a picture I took on my last night in Sydney. Warm night, close air. I walked to the very edge of the wharf (where Russell Crowe is popularly known to have an apartment) and dangled my legs as far out as I could above the water. I could have fallen in then and the moon would've caught me in her reflection. (Failing that, Russell would've come out and saved me) I whispered some incredibly private promises and desires to the sea, which assured me that it would always be there.

The new year is pressing on and I'm mulling over secret plans, promises, commitments. The back of the house needs doing up. There's talk of a fountain of some kind but I've pooh-poohed it. Gotta bring down that recliner chair for dad. Recycling junk center comes round this weekend, so our spring clean has got to meet that deadline. Poop has promised a bottle of Chanel perfume when she gets back from France. Art meets, greets. Less pressure now, much less pressure. I'm borderline with the smokes. A drag or two still causes sweet ecstacy in my veins. I plan to remain quit this year, with a little help from friends (you know who you are). Sydney reaffirmed that I'm happiest in a palette of black, white, grey and navy blue, with allowances for the occasional colorful tight dress. Short hair will stay. Yoga everyday. More cooking, especially after watching and falling in love with Jacques Pepin on telly! This is a money-making year for Betta. According to the stars the sun is out for yet another year, and I'll have to make hay while it lasts. Can't say yet what it is I'll do, but I promise you this: it won't be what you expect.

Welcome 2008 at last. x.