I dreamed of Australia last night. I dreamed we drove down the Great Ocean Road and played in the sea. I talked to everyone I care about. For a long time. And laughed a lot. And played ridiculous amounts of Scrabble. It was wonderful.
I woke up, read my mum's latest post about Christmas, and felt melancholy. Why does my world have to be spread so far apart? This year we'll be celebrating Christmas with Sylvain's parents, replete with foie gras and Sauternes and other deliciousness. And if we're lucky, maybe some snow. It's not quite enough to balance out how much I'll miss being in Australia at Christmas, but it's not so bad, really. I'll survive, after all.
I'm reading. Devouring. Book after book. Late into the night. Sleeping well. Dreaming. Eating giant choco-coconut covered marshmallows from Ikea that are quite like Snowballs. Hugging my husband. Lots. Taking photos. Working less. Being more efficient. Making new friends. Drinking ridiculous amounts of juice. Playing lots of Scrabulous. Doing yoga. Maybe even taking up a theater class. We're almost at episode 100. And I have all sorts of exciting things up my sleeve, more plans and adventures.
I'm in a good place.