Melbourne I Love you, But leaf me to be.

It's autumn time in Melbourne and by golly ol' chap, those leaves are falling. Brown. Red. Yellow. Other colours. Wandering through Princes park is a sight to behold, and my fresh new self is hit in the face by two realities; where the hell was I last autumn? And how can all these runners breathe when it's so damn cold? Recently I just woke up from a self induced coma one can only describe as a whirlwind of hallucinagens, amphetamines and booze which aimed to destroy my ability to keep things from not breaking, and to remember where I was for a whole season last year. I look at those leaves piled like snow flakes and I wonder why it feels like an eternity since I've seen anything this beautiful. Well, when I'm not tripping balls. And it occured to me that in these times of poverty when one cannot afford such luxuries as lying in a gutter laughing at an odd shaped crack or dancing up and down parliament stairs pretending to be a chorus girl, we can stop and smell the err leaves. So I was standing in princes park smelling a leaf, when I "awoke" to the stare of a super fit annoyingly outfitted young runner who goggled me with that "you wish you looked like me" kind  of look. It was then that I realised that being poor has given me a well needed mind holiday from that sweet pull of the "other world". And I basked in that glorious moment of not being that girl. I bet she hasn't stood in Princes park smelling leaves.
I can assume that the runner at this point was thinking a number of things about the oddity of my situation, which I might add is not really that odd for the north side, but I'm going to go with this: "keep going, nearly there, wierd girl, keep going nearly there". Because as much as we like to think that others really care about what we are doing, or might write about us in a blog, the truth is that people care more about themselves, and rarely will stop to smell the person smelling the leaf.