No names to protect the innocent

Today is one of those days where the fabric of the universe shifts slightly, but you're not sure whether it's making a comfortable readjustment in your favour or whether some ethereal being is staring to grip the edges in order to whisk it out from under you. (I've just finished Lily Brett's collected short stories, and she speaks about a Jewish sense of mistrusting the good times because there's always a shadow of the bad times hovering. I'm not Jewish, but I share that particular sensibility.)

I got my tax return (hooray! say my debtors, and yes I know who you are) and it was far more than I expected. Far more. Like twice as much as my accountant told me I'd get. Hmm. Looks good in the bank account, but I think I'll be confirming with the ATO before they decide I've been trying to fleece them and demand it back along with a hefty pound of flesh, as is their wont. If it is in my favour, I'm buying a few clothes.

I rode my bike into the art school, and it was a beautiful day.

I was given interesting, important work to do which involves both skill and thought (constructing some prints, i.e creating a 'patchwork' print edition by slitting and sewing together a number of prints), but then was hovered over by the artist who obviously didn't trust me to play with her precious work (while I'm bitching in parentheses, let me point out that the 'vision' of these prints belongs to this particular artist, but the hard work belongs to my colleague who made, proofed and printed all the plates -- and myself, who made and printed the digital images and am now constructing 6 editions of 20 prints each. Then Princess Diva gets to take them to the galleries and sell them for a hell of a lot of money.). I have been assured by my boss (who is not the colleague previously mentioned, but will be credited as being the printer of the edition anyway) that Princess Diva will relax and stay at home once she witnesses the magic of my craft, but in the meantime I will be hovered over like a vulture over a dying lamb in the desert.

Le puff, le pant. Did that last paragraph make any sense? Sometimes being an invisible art technician is fabulous, and sometimes it sucks. Only when the ego intervenes. Karma will prevail, I'm sure of it.

I'm trying to ride my bicycle as much as possible at the moment. Apart from the fitness benefits, there's also the beauty benefits, as Canberra is sooooooooo lovely this time of year. Except when someone ugly gets in front of you on the bike path and stays just ahead of you all the way. Like Pickled Walnut Man today, with small, tight shorts and very large lumpy brown muscles. Everytime I tried to overtake he would make a point of catching up and staying ahead. Did I mention ego? Relax, think about the autumn leaves. Breathe deeply of the crisp evening air. Try not to look at the weird shape of his legs. That's a girl.