The first truly hot day of the year. By which I mean it’s a hot day that followed another hot day so cumulatively it feels like summer. I’ve got the Christmas lights on now, and I sat up late last night, lying on the couch looking at them reflecting off the windows and the glass in the doors. I’ve been rewatching The Detectorists and it’s making me melancholy. In a good way. The theme song is perhaps the most pitch perfect theme song of any television series ever.
I went into the market today for lunch with one of my children. It was buzzing, but in a languid way. The way that November Fridays do. It made me sink even further into November. Lots of good things happened, but the best part was getting out of the car, seeing the carpark flooded with tradies, all laughing and yelling. It had just hit 37.5 on the building site. Anything over 37 means tools down. Their glee gave perfect Friday afternoon vibes.
For years–years and years–I’ve been working to establish rhythms and routines. I’ve been writing it on every plan I’ve ever made (which is a lot, given that I make annual plans almost weekly). But of course you can’t create rhythms and routines, they create themselves. I’ve been reminded of that this October and November. As the first year since 2018 that I haven’t been trying to get together a new show for the next year’s fringe there’s been a freedom I wasn’t expecting. I keep looking around me, trying to understand what this feeling is, but it’s the feeling of not having a new show to create. And it’s left my body and my brain with all sorts of space, and time and energy to think about what comes next. Except that today it’s too hot to think.