Oh woe is me. What? Sorry, no I wasn’t talking to you. um yeah. Just a vegie pad thai thanks.

There is something intrinsically humbling and shoe scuffing about the long haul commuterlife. I eat alone at tiny Japanese restaurants or get takeaway (mmm vegie and rice $4 specials) and eat on the train, or, even more glamorous, eat something I assemble at work. This is because I have given up on the idea of eating really really late when I get home. See? Not glam. If I miss a train I slouch around, do more work, clean my desk, walk the long way round, buy dinnner. Sounds leisurely I know, but feels kind of like looking busy. I have these (occasional, I promise, occasional) moments of sheer despair where I see myself looking tired and eating at some overlit Thai takeaway, by myself, too tired to read, to tired to think much of anything nice, with bad frizzy hair and also noticing that I’m so shallow I’m worried about frizzy hair and I think ‘oh dear, what was my life all about again?’ because I’ve forgotten, but seem to remember that this wasn’t quite how I planned to furnish it and have a niggling feeling that there were important, and um, like fun, things that I had planned to do with it. And maybe in places other than bed, work, the train or the thai takeaway. Not long till moving now – funny how once you’ve decided to change a situation enduring the last little bit of it can suddenly seem extra excruciating.