I keep waking up in the middle of the night. Sometimes from the acid ravaging my esophagus from some annoying ailment, sometimes from the jet lag that sits heavy on my eyelids at two in the afternoon and pries them awake at four in the morning. I tell myself that first thing in the morning, I will finally compile all of the golden thoughts and sparkling experiences- and predictably, this will vanishes as soon as the sun’s morning rays streak through the window. But after fingers fluttering around my neck and keyboard and apartment for several days, it’s time to write of the past two weeks. My past two weeks in Australia. Our past two weeks in Australia.
Tag Archives: Tacoma
artifacts.
The sky is a sorbet of bright white clouds and silky grey with strips of unripened blueberry through the tall, secret-telling windows of our new apartment. I hear only the whirr of the washer and dryer, every so often interrupted by the shriek of a seagull. I’ve spent the past few hours sorting through the boxes stacked high against the cool concrete walls. Piling up dust blanketed books and milk glass to haul to Goodwill, sifting through ancient Sharpie covered CDs scattered among ink filled day planners, and tossing stack upon stack of irrelevant business cards. While I’ve moved seventeen times in the past ten years, I somehow manage to hold on to some impressive memorabilia.
Your True North.
In my favourite book The Virgin Suicides, after a first attempt at death, young Cecilia is asked post-slitting-of-the-wrists “What are you doing here, honey? You’re not even old enough to know how bad life gets.”
Her response, “Obviously, Doctor, you’ve never been a thirteen year old girl.”
Whirlwind.

Layers of ugliness and masterpiece.
Casanova.
Watching someone you love and respect work on something passionately with focus, drive, and serious intent makes you want them to achieve the success they’re reaching for that much more. In this case it’s been one of my best friends, partner in crime, and influencer Nick Casanova.
Extravagantly.
There are days when it feels like everything has been flecked with rose gold and hazel and honey. They are rare and they’re when I feel my heart in my throat and even sleep deprived and synapses slow, everything feels delicious.
Retreat.

A departure.
The lust to wander is back full force and I don’t quite know what to do with this familiar feeling. It’s a bit of a chicken or the egg situation: I purchased a ticket for a brief stint (hopefully filled to the brim with work and collaborative ideas) back to Phnom Penh and since then haven’t been able to take my mind off getting out. Did the desire to make my way across the world again force me to finally buy a ticket or was it purchasing my flight that’s got me all riled up to go?
The family tree.
It wasn’t until getting off the phone with our dear family friend, Tina, yesterday that I realized that I had been quite mum about well, my mum’s marriage.
The bells.
This weekend was special for a few reasons: the biggest, having the honor of being with my amazing family-to-be. Spending time with Robin and her lovely sister and mom (who I have a feeling are going to become very special people in my life!) as she found the most perfect vintage wedding dress from UrbanXChange was a highlight that delights and warms me each time I think of her floating in a haze of laced white.
Open house.
Take one look at my planner and you’ll understand why I’d like to schedule my coffee with you two weeks in advance (three weeks if it’s dinner), why my kitchen looks the way it does (horrible), and the reason I have to hit up the gas station every few days (thank the Lord for low petrol prices).