'Want to head out for some breakfast?' he suggests.
I smile and I obviously say yes, because - eggs! Enough said, really. I love me some eggs.
So we grab our phones and our wallets and we head out, pulling the locked door shut behind us. We walk through the security gates and out onto the footpath before he asks me another question. This time, it's, 'Do you have the keys?'
And so marked the fifth (ish) time that we'd locked ourselves out of our apartment.
We decide to shrug it off and head to breakfast anyway, and eventually make phone contact with the on-site managers of our apartment block, who confirm they'll be home in ninety minutes.
We eat our eggs and avo on toast.
He downs his soy flat white (his favourite).
I opt for a pineapple and orange juice; delightfully spiced with ginger, lemon and chilli.
And I raise an eyebrow at my day planner, which sits next to my fork.
I forgot to grab the keys, but not pen and paper. Telling.
And as he sits beside me, killing time by flicking through the newspaper, I decided to do something I haven't quite been able to do the last few months: write.
Write like this.
And then I get home and rather than simply type up my hand-written notes (a usual blogging ritual of mine), instead, I find myself opening up the camera on my desktop computer and simply reading.
Unedited. Rife with mistakes. Not completely coherent.
But after more than five years of blogging, I've decided that that's the way I like it.
Now's a good time for me to ask you:
What would you have yourself harvest in six months?
Thank you for being here. I'm grateful.
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