So, there I was, sitting on the bus, staring out the window, hoping no one would notice that my own brain was making me an emotional wreck.
I hate my brain.
Once I got myself together, I laughed at myself. On the bus. It occurred to me in that moment that I must have looked like the most unstable local mental hospital escapee ever. I was wearing a pretty coat, though. That might have made me look a little less insane.
Gods, writers are weird.
I think that I might get to writing the actual death today, or at least be super close. I hope I manage to write the death, because otherwise I have a full weekend of having that scene play in my head on a loop. No, thank you.
In other news, today is Australia Day.
I used to celebrate it, being Australian and all. But I've changed. You see, January 26th is the day the first of the British fleets landed.
What's the big deal?
Well, like most places Britain landed, it started hundreds of years of genocide, resulting in the tragic loss of lives, languages and cultures. It's a day of mourning for Indigenous Australians and Torres Straight Islanders.
I don't find what happened in Australia to be worthy of celebrating.
The country certainly is worth celebrating. It has its problems, but it's a beautiful country full of wonderful people.
We could celebrate it any day of the year. Why, in 1935 (with wide adoption in 1994), did we choose the day that began generations of heinous acts?
So, I will celebrate Australia, but not today. Today I give space to my Indigenous brothers and sisters to mourn. It's Invasion Day. It's Survival.
Now, I'm all in favour of this suggestion. It made me smile. So, let's change the date, Australia.
And now I go to write.