astronaut ambition

in a town called Newcastle

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Thu Oct 11 01 / 7:33 AM

My right hand is very cold because it is my mouse hand, and I have been at this free internet terminal in a small museum in a small town for almost three hours now. Although the sign says very clearly that sessions are limited to 30 minutes, I simply can't care because this might be the last time I use the internet on this continent that I might never visit again.

This sounds like I am quite done with Australia, and I am, but it is not the heady frustrated thing it sounds like. I will miss Australia when I go home; because it is its own great place and it could almost be home after four months (couldn't any place?). But this last week is the last of me here. I have seen everything, I have only to get back to Sydney in time for departure. It is this last week of trying to find enough to do, especially in the evenings when I don't feel like making conversation with the other hostellers that I will never see again, that is making me wish I were home, now.

But despite the glory of the homecoming and the glory of the remembered trip, I don't know what I will do when I am home. University is over, the big post-school trip is over. What now? I suddenly realize, this is the proverbial rest of my life trying to begin, waiting for a cue that I can't provide.

I don't have any real idea as to what time it is. The computer clock says it is 8:02am, but I at least know that is obviously wrong. I packed my alarm clock before check in time and now it is in a locker that I had to wrestle with. I lost my watch on Fraser Island, as far as I can figure.

But it's okay. I know that my bus is tonight, and that within a week I'll be in Sydney in an airport. A day after that I'll be going to sleep in Japan and waking up to the very same day all over again, thanks to the mysterious power of the International Date Line.

This time I've spent here in Australia, I don't know where it went. Some of it went to photographs and bus rides and I love yous, but that hardly seems to account for four months of ways and days. When I get back home to my normal time, will July-October 2001 continue to seem like a black hole?

Because yes, I feel like this summer I fell into a black hole. But there is something on the other side of the black rabbit burrow; there's another world down here that looks the same, but isn't quite what you're used to. So time was spent, but for the first time it wasn't spent on moving forward in the life that has always been moving forward. It was spent on a tangent, and me, the time-lover and time-hater, doesn't know what to do with that. Doing it was one thing, trying to realize what I've done is another.

On October 15th, which I will experience twice, I wonder if I will look at the continent I might never visit again and say, "I wish I had a second chance at that." I can't do anything else with time past but that.

And now, when there is absolutely nobody in sight wanting to use the internet, some museum man tries to tell me, "Ma'am, the internet is only for use 30 minutes per day."

Not a proper goodbye.

</>

Lisa Higgs

.

*in a town called Newcastle*
.
latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Thu Oct 11 01 / 7:33 AM My right hand is very cold because it is my mouse hand, and I have been at this free internet terminal in a small museum in a small town for almost three hours now. Although the sign says very clearly that sessions are limited to 30 minutes, I simply can't care because this might be the last time I use the internet on this continent that I might never visit again. This sounds like I am quite done with Australia, and I am, but it is not the heady frustrated thing it sounds like. I will miss Australia when I go home; because it is its own great place and it could almost be home after four months (couldn't any place?). But this last week is the last of me here. I have seen everything, I have only to get back to Sydney in time for departure. It is this last week of trying to find enough to do, especially in the evenings when I don't feel like making conversation with the other hostellers that I will never see again, that is making me wish I were home, now. But despite the glory of the homecoming and the glory of the remembered trip, I don't know what I will do when I am home. University is over, the big post-school trip is over. What now? I suddenly realize, this is the proverbial rest of my life trying to begin, waiting for a cue that I can't provide. I don't have any real idea as to what time it is. The computer clock says it is 8:02am, but I at least know that is obviously wrong. I packed my alarm clock before check in time and now it is in a locker that I had to wrestle with. I lost my watch on Fraser Island, as far as I can figure. But it's okay. I know that my bus is tonight, and that within a week I'll be in Sydney in an airport. A day after that I'll be going to sleep in Japan and waking up to the very same day all over again, thanks to the mysterious power of the International Date Line. This time I've spent here in Australia, I don't know where it went. Some of it went to photographs and bus rides and I love yous, but that hardly seems to account for four months of ways and days. When I get back home to my normal time, will July-October 2001 continue to seem like a black hole? Because yes, I feel like this summer I fell into a black hole. But there is something on the other side of the black rabbit burrow; there's another world down here that looks the same, but isn't quite what you're used to. So time was spent, but for the first time it wasn't spent on moving forward in the life that has always been moving forward. It was spent on a tangent, and me, the time-lover and time-hater, doesn't know what to do with that. Doing it was one thing, trying to realize what I've done is another. On October 15th, which I will experience twice, I wonder if I will look at the continent I might never visit again and say, "I wish I had a second chance at that." I can't do anything else with time past but that. And now, when there is absolutely nobody in sight wanting to use the internet, some museum man tries to tell me, "Ma'am, the internet is only for use 30 minutes per day." Not a proper goodbye.
	</>
Lisa Higgs
.