The third day of autumn, and already there’s a chill in the air. The weathermen and weatherwomen forecast a ‘weather bomb’ for today (perhaps the whole weekend, I should pay more attention) and the day has been rather explosive. But the sky seems to be blue for the time being, and I’ve dug out a merino top to keep me cuddly-warm, so this is acceptable.
The third day of autumn also means that university has started back, and I have survived those most horrific weeks (first year orientation week and first week of lectures both) in university bookstore land. Just. Tomorrow begins a six day working week, which will be about as much fun as it sounds, but it means additional money in the Escape Auckland And Go Everywhere fund. In theory.
A hectic workplace means comfort reading, so I’ve set aside goals of getting through anything award-winning and/or cerebral, and have been flicking through some Charlaine Harris again, and have also accumulated a wee stack of short story collections beside my bed, to pick and choose pieces as I see fit. Smoke and Mirrors by Neil Gaiman, Not Her Real Name by Emily Perkins (just for tradition’s sake – I’ve read this collection many many times), The Tent by Margaret Atwood and Best Lesbian Love Stories : New York City (for some REALLY lowbrow mushy reading). Although Neil Gaiman, Emily Perkins and Margaret Atwood are all award winners. I suppose short stories are less ongoing mental exertion.
Beyond books? I turfed through a bunch of old magazines at my mum’s house last weekend, various copies of Empire, Rip It Up, Real Groove, Frankie, Bust, Diva and others. I’m trying to work on getting rid of things I don’t need, both for monetary and spatial gain. I ripped out various pictures and have been putting them in what I’ve decided is my ‘inspiration’ moleskine – the one I’ve had longest, a blank page hardcover beauty that has been gradually filling up since June 2008. I was a voracious scribbler/collager at first, and then used it rarely, sticking to other lined notebooks, which were more appropriate for writing, I felt. But lately I’ve been going back to this notebook and filling it up with ideas and wishes and dreams and pictures and anything else. This is part of my Must Get Back To Creative Roots If I’m Ever Going To Make A Living From It scheme. It’s been a little haphazard over the last couple of weeks due to EXHAUSTION upon arrival home in the evenings (cf. previously mentioned start of university semester), but in a few weeks the madness will be over, and everything will seem brighter, I’m sure. For now, I will make do with my book/typewriter collage, and the Molly Crabapple picture I cut out from an ad in Bust.
Oh, and I think some actual blogging will happen too. Hypothetically.
It’s the third day of autumn, and it’s time to get back on track.