Tara Jayne and I are hanging out on Brunswick Street, strolling along in the misty rain. She's lived in Sydney a while now (remember when she left? Man, that time sucked), and tells me that coming back down to Melbourne feels stranger than it used to. "When I lived here I had so much to work on," she says, "But now, when I have a day off, I'm kind of at a loss. I just don't know what to do." I kinda know how she feels. Now that I'm not riding my bike so much I have all this time, and occasionally I have no idea how to fill it. I read books, I run errands around town, I catch up with old friends, but sometimes I find myself with an empty hour and no way to fill it. In a strange way, that's a pretty good feeling. As opposed to the hours when I was sticking to a program, or the hours when I'm at work, those empty hours feel like they wholly belong to me. It's like I can stretch out in them, unravel a little, take them or leave them. Or do both, if I choose.
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