NO FIXED ADDRESS

I appear to have made a slight miscalculation.

At some point in the recent past, I decided it would be a brilliant idea to stuff absolutely everything into a nine-week window. Work, freelance gigs, gym, life admin, moving plans, overseas prep… all of it, crammed in like a glovebox full of old receipts and broken sunglasses.

There’s car stuff to sort. Important stuff, that if ignored, leaves you stranded somewhere between “this seemed like a good idea” and “we live here now”.

There’s overseas stuff. Flights, bookings, loose ends, things that cost money you haven’t quite accepted but need to be spent.

There’s health stuff. Back in the gym, lifting things that feel significantly heavier than they did pre covid, while pretending this is all part of a carefully engineered comeback rather than a slow negotiation with gravity.

Then there’s business stuff. Writing, design, emails, quotes… all wedged in around a full-time job that, rather unreasonably, expects me to show up every day and do actual work.

And on top of that, moving stuff. Boxes, decisions, what stays, goes, and how stuff multiplies when you’re not looking.

All of this in Nine and a half weeks (Yes, I’m even counting down the half weeks)

In the middle of all this, tomorrow brings a small but significant victory. The air con is finally getting fixed. After six weeks of Darwin’s wet season trying to turn the shoebox into a slow cooker, relief is in sight.

Sure, the body adapts to humidity. But I’d rather not hang around long enough to grow gills.
Stuff that.

And now, just to keep things interesting, there’s talk of another cyclone this weekend.

Which means the population will once again descend on supermarkets and start stuffing their trolleys with enough supplies to survive a minor apocalypse, leaving the shelves looking like a Soviet-era documentary.

I’ll be wandering through it tomorrow, trying to find something basic, like bread, and coming home with vegan food, because people would rather starve than eat facon.

So yes. That’s where things are.

A life currently held together by lists, deadlines, and an alarming amount of… stuff.