Work is 70 or 80 hours of my life this week. It seems as though my actual life is a hobby and I have abandoned it for the pursuit of making ends meet.

It's hot on Sunday in Australia. The body exists in a thickness that moistures magnetic force in the air slowly sucks throughout the day.

But sunshine clears my head like opening the curtains to a long forgotten, musty room.

It's quiet.

I wonder, in this time before the long day of work begins to stretch out before me, what to say of life. It's not just accepted in my world ... there are always questions of beauty and importance.

That each day holds a special possibility. Could I wake up in a different world entirely or is this the same as the one before and how is it different?

And I think it's weird, the expectations we place on other people. A certain performance, a way to behave. Even subconsciously.

I certainly feel out of place from time to time.