The most extraordinary dreams last night. Mum has two IVF babies, a boy and a girl. The boy has no genitals, he’s like a doll. In every other way he is perfect. The babies are small and perfect like large dolls, but alive with lovely soft skin and they are cute and smiling. Mum says the boy’s genitals can be added later.

I don’t have to go to Katoomba. I could move to Perth or Brisbane, where it’s warmer.

I’ve DONE Newtown.

Incense is curling through the air. Nag Champa. There is my well-thumbed copy of The Golden Notebook.

Day avec Lisa. Wonderful to be on hols. Made a stir fry lunch for us, ate it out the back on the outdoor furniture on a floor of fallen leaves. Unseasonal warm weather continues. We went to Kathmandu to look at jackets. All wonderful. Okay. I want one of those jackets, especially if I’m going to live in Katoomba. Can’t afford it right now.

To Circular Quay, killing time until the ferry to Woolwich. Popped in to Guava, Lisa got me to try on clothes I’d normally never try. None looked crash-hot. I looked best in what I had on: bright red body warmer with hood (I’ll be living in it all winter), black skivvy and jeans and my “magic” shoes, the funky sneakers bought prior to my trip into the Wollemi wilderness with Ian.

Ferry to Woolwich. Cockatoo Island. The great north walk. Note: this walk goes all the way to Newcastle! Strode out, following it, as if embarking on a trip to Newcastle. Ferry back. Warm inside the ferry. Red seats. A great huge hunk of sirloin at The Rose. An indulgent, free, hedonistic day with Lisa. I wagged yoga and felt fine about it.

Now I feel a bit frightened about Katoomba. It’ll be freezing. I could do that thing Dawn and Peter did at Castlemaine – they all lived in one room, where the heater was.

That photo of MY BELLY with the fruit and flowers went down really well at the PMT exhibition, esp. among a couple of lesbians.

Greenwood Plaza
Lisa has given me the delightful sleeveless jacket thing I’m wearing. I can see myself not taking it off all winter. I’ve come into the Plaza looking for clothes. I hate shopping so much, I can’t tell you. I hate all the chain stores, blaring music, all selling the same mass-produced shite. I only ever get inspired looking at clothes that are far too expensive. Nervous about going back to work and still not having any clothes.

Rode over here on bike, on way to drop off extremely overdue music CDs and tapes dating from Mum’s request to get Mum Mum some music. I did a bad job of that compilation. I’m bad at shopping, bad at making compilation tapes. If I’ve got a Moosewood cookbook, I’m not too bad at cooking.

Can’t wait to get exhibition photos back of all of us in black and red at our menstrual evening.