Finished DJ'ing at a very busy Q + A last night (full house within an hour of opening and a queue that lasted until 1am - the word has got around, it seems...) at 2.30am and got to bed about 3.30am. Then I was up at 8am for work, which means that, even though I didn't get drunk last night, I'm still pretty knackered today.
Happily, however, my fuzzy brain was somewhat assuaged when I stepped out the door to see Fitzroy blanketed in a thick fog. The end of the street was invisible; the sharp edges of the world were softened and blurred.
Fog always adds an air of mystery to an otherwise prosaic day, for me; it imbues the world with possibility and strangeness, by virtue of transforming the everyday into something temporarily other and interesting.
The cold morning air pinched my cheeks like an over-friendly aunt. I exhaled, my breath condensing, becoming one with the fog.
I wondered, as I began the 20 minute walk into the city, what strange new joys this day will hold? I promise to blog about it, whatever it may turn out to be...