MARCH WINDS BLOW COLD

Seasons shift. Time marches on. The icy drizzle of our weird new climate settles over Sydney. On the mute TV the old Pope waves one last time from the balcony then, Nixonesque, boards the holy helicopter into gilded exile. He did what he felt was right.

            My ex-wife has, at long last, found a good man close to her own age and seems ready to settle down; a weight off my mind. My bf has a new tattoo I may never see up-close, thanks to a mutual capacity for emotional denial and poor impulse control.

            One friend prepares to depart these shores and live out his dream of being a successful touring musician. Meanwhile another friend moves to Sydney from the bush to find work and build a new life – his dream of being a champion jockey shattered, with his sternum, pancreas, spleen and most of his bones, in a riding accident.

            My sister’s boyfriend, made redundant a few months ago, consoles himself by purchasing one of those titanic American SUVs. Even my mother contemplates trading-up – a four-wheel drive just big enough for herself, her grand-daughter and her German shepherd.

            The Labor Government marches inexorably toward destruction; the Opposition, and its Howard era front bench, readies itself to revive the good old days of increased middle-class welfare, populist xenophobia, wedge politics and no spending on any infrastructure outside marginal electorates; some things change – others never will.

            And me? I’ve given up on changing. Rather, my project these days is to become more myself. I think it’s going well. In a few weeks I’ll be a qualified copy-editor, and will begin the daunting process of setting-up shop. It’s not exactly the most exciting business, but I’ll be largely my own boss; and it won’t hurt to make a few contacts in the publishing industry.

             My only real worry is that it will chew up time when I could be writing, but somebody once told me that you don’t find time for the important stuff – you make time. Anyway, having to worry less about the little things – like paying the rent and feeding myself – won’t be an unwelcome change. Who knows, I may even end up in a position to keep a roof over someone else’s head while they chase their own dream. I’d like that.

            Or, I could follow the old Pope’s lead and devote the rest of my life to prayer. That always works.