Boxed in, boxed up

I took yesterday off work and packed up my room. I've worked out it's cheaper for me to buy space in a truck that is doing a round trip, and will take up to two weeks to reach Canberra. Tomorrow is the latest they can fit me in before January.
Thus I found myself shovelling all my worldly goods into boxes, watching my little haven- my oasis of calm in an otherwise batshit crazy household- diminish. I've sold some of my furniture, sorted out my uni notes, tossed a whole pile of fashion mags, culled my wardrobe.
I know I should be excited to be packing up. My house is a disaster, after all, my current job was only ever supposed to be temporary, there are no good journo jobs in Melbourne, I don't have a boyfriend to make me feel guilty for leaving. But damn it's a sad thing, leaving life as I know it behind. All my books, my absurdly large CD collection, my Melbourne clothes, (manifestly inappropriate for a tropical Asian climate), my piles of newspaper clippings and photos. So much stuff- boxes and boxes of it.
I took a break and met Elizabeth and her boyfriend Billy, both over from London, in the city. We sat in Desgraves Lane, and watched the crowds, and I remembered how much I love Melbourne, and how I am still always struck by the symmetry and chaos of it. We went shopping, E tried on an absurdly expensive (but entirely desirable) cardigan, and I felt sad.

I imagine that I am going to a place where none of this will matter. I imagine that soon I will no longer care about which bands are touring, who won the Booker, finding the perfect pair of winter boots or what Kate Moss is wearing/feeling/snorting. I won't be obsessed with daily news, I keep thinking. I won't check out Gawker every week, or Crikey, or Go Fug Yourself. Celebrities and music and books and clothes will be distant relics of a past life. I will become a different person- calmer and more spiritual. A Zen Goddess.

All bullshit, of course. I'm set in my ways. I'll be working at a newspaper, after all, plus there's a gym at the Australia Club in Vientiane. And what's the internet for, anyway?

Last night's shift at the Fitzroy Legal Service was remarkably quiet- balmy weather usually means more people on the streets getting into trouble, but not last night. We shut the doors early and had some pizza delivered. I did have one client, though, a young man who had been involved in a car prang, and is stuck with a massive insurance bill from the other party. He told me he believes he wasn't in the wrong, and deep down he knows he should fight the claim in court. But what he really wants is to become a registered nurse and go and work in remote communities in central Australia. I told him about Laos, and about a certain nurse I know who has been doing the same thing, and is now working in rural Laos. His eyes shined with excitement, and he forgot his money worries.

I kept on packing when I got home at 9pm, and stopped around midnight. Today I'm tired, and my back is sore, which is slightly humiliating. I mentioned before that my house is a disaster, but these days I can't help seeing the amusing side of it all, from an objective standpoint. I frequently stop and ask myself how the hell I came to be living here. That's right: I answered Schram's ad in October last year, and he persuaded me, when I was in a position to be persuaded, to move in. I did and it was the best decision I ever made, although it took me some time to realise that.
But I need to remember that there was once a reason, even though I'm about to leave...

Meanwhile, Brooke wants to know why I haven't talked about her and her happiness, however precarious it may be at the moment.
All in good time, my lovelies. Perhaps I'll dedicate a whole post tomorrow to that tantalising theme- the theme of lurve.
Stay tuned.