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I love autumn.

I walked out of work today to a cloudy sky, and everything was fresh and cool. There was a man standing in Poet’s corner (I believe that it’s actually called Speaker’s corner, but I like poet’s corner better) near the deliberating statues shouting at no one in particular about Jesus being our saviour. Accept Jesus into your hearts! God does not scorn the weak and impudent! And nothing he said made any sense. He didn’t look like the usual yeller-outers either – before he started talking, I thought he was just one of the usual emo or goth crowd. He was wearing black and red. I wonder about these people… did they, in school or uni, join a Society for the Appreciation of Talking Loudly At Passers-By? And then discovered that if he talked loudly about Christian things, he could do his favourite thing all day in an area of high pedestrian traffic? It might be a dream come true for him. I think it’s a dream come true for the guy who wears a silk sash as a belt. But I think he was more part of the “Society for the cultivation of God’s Right-Hand Man Complex”, because he’s allowed to judge everyone by telling everyone they shouldn’t judge, and by denouncing the godless heathens in Asia who deserved to be killed and their homes destroyed by the tsunami because they hadn’t accepted Jesus as their saviour.
Puh-lease.
He sometimes starts his little lectures by saying “Hello. Hell-oh. Hell oooooh.” And the only reason I know this is because he’s at the crossing when I walk back to work from the mall if I am out at lunch, or sometimes he’s there in the mornings. But not lately because the bus I catch means I don’t have to walk past that particular bit of unpleasantness.

…To continue with the theme of calm, peace, and generally good feelings, the bus ride home this afternoon must have been the best I have ever taken in my entire life. It was my favourite time of day (late afternoon) my favourite type of day (steel grey clouds with darker clouds threatening in the background) and everything had a strange feel to it, like I was watching it from a memory. This was probably because most things I saw conjured up images from memories that made me feel happy and nostalgic (I live my life in a perpetually nostalgic state). I remembered:

* the trip we took to Sydney a few years ago, and although the reason for the trip wasn’t the most pleasant, the outcome was acceptable and the rest of the time we were there was good. It wasn’t good that every relative we visited had prepared us a wonderful meal of spaghetti (!), and having to eat it so as not to be rude. Since that time I’ve always felt slightly ill when confronted with a plate of it.

* The general mood of the afternoon also reminded me of watching storms move in through the valley from the dining room window of our house on top of the hill, feeling safe while still seeing the danger of the storm, the wind in the pine trees and the chill from the cold front, and watching as the gales blew little white caps on the river (which we called white horses).

* And I remembered catching the bus home from school during flood season, seeing the river travelling beside the road muddy and bloated, as if it was trying to race us home and get there before us so it could block our way back into town (this a constant source of anxiety for me, and on really rainy days I’d stall so long that I eventually never left for school, and would stay home feeling relieved until the next day when I had to go to school and take the chance that, although the roads into town were open when we left, the aqueduct might have flooded by the time school let out and then we wouldn’t be able to get home.) Each day we would listen to the radio to hear whether the highway was open or not. Days when it wasn’t open were like snow days for kids in the Northern Hemisphere, except without all the snow to play with. And we stayed inside because it as raining. Later, after the flood water had dissipated and evaporated somewhat, the stench of the paddocks with stagnant water in the low spots was terrible, like something had died and was just left to rot in the sun. I think it was just rotting vegetation, but you’d never know. There could be dead cows or anything under the water in the dips.

* I remember sitting on the deck at Martin & Jenny’s house listening to the rain on the tin roof (one of the best sounds in the world) watching everything get slowly soaked, and Martin daring me to stand underneath the storm water drain. I did, the water was so clean from days of rain washing everything out, and there was pure white sand underneath from so many people coming back in from the beach and rinsing off outside under the drain pipe. It sounds bad but was nice really. The water was shockingly cold.

———-

The view of the headlights through the tint of the bus windows at dusk on a cloudy day was calming. And even though it was dusk, everything was very clear because of the rain. Rain on cool days clears the air. I’m so glad that summer is over, though I think we’re probably in for a few more hot days before it gives up for good. For the most part, I couldn’t have asked for a better afternoon.

Roshard and I had dinner in the Village. It started raining on the walk down, and we twirled our umbrellas until long after it stopped raining and our umbrellas were dry. It didn’t rain on the way back.

I made an appointment at Escape for Friday, to talk over options. (what are my options?)

And whatever Dad said, whatever mum might have countered with, I am not over it and it is not over. It’s not as if something like that can happen and then you just say, “Oh rightio then, I won’t worry about it.” It doesn’t work that way. I am worried about it. And someone can’t just say, “I didn’t want you to get upset about it.” As an excuse for saying something upsetting. Just because that wasn’t the intention doesn’t mean that wasn’t always going to be the result. If someone was less self-absorbed, they would realise that. And yes, I realise that it’s unfair of him to do that, but I can’t stop feeling like it’s my responsibility. It was asked of me. Someone needed something. I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have told anyone. I should have just helped. It was me being weak, and I knew what I was doing when I let go of the secret. I was letting someone else take some of the weight off my shoulders and it wasn’t fair of it to be on my shoulders in the first place, but then it wasn’t fair of me to offload it onto someone else.

Anyway. My nickname is Town Drunk, according to the program sent around in the email. Oh so very apt. Because, lyk, I get drunk lyk all tha time. It’s a shame I couldn’t send it on, it was very funny.

It is lent. Tomorrow is my lent, as I didn’t realise that it was Shrove Tuesday yesterday. And it doesn’t feel like Ash Wednesday unless you go to mass and get the little ashen cross drawn on your forehead.

So I am always a day behind.