​An Australian Creative Director and Strategist fumbles through life in America. Live from New York.

An Australian Creative Director and Strategist fumbles through life New York City.

A day later, some thoughts.

(Editors Note: This post requires background context, however I am not interested in printing the context online. Instead, I am merely posting some of what I’m feeling, which is kind of exactly what Tumblr is for. That, and photos of cats that look like celebrities).

Well, the wait is over. And the result of my weeks of worry and angst were…pretty much exactly what I thought. At least my worrying remains accurate and razor sharp. And there are a few strange feelings cranking around my bonce this sunny Monday morning. And as they say, better out than in (oh yeah, they say it).

You miss the banter, because even at the end, you still see the flashes of what you loved. The chatting about nothing, the meaningless, hilarious and insightful conversations that simply occurred. You miss her opinions.

You miss the shit out of the tiniest, most inconsequential parts of what you had: you miss there being sound in your apartment in the morning, you miss seeing her shoes at the front door, you miss that feeling of waking up in the night, and knowing she’s there. You miss waiting for a cab with her. You miss saying goodbye, I’ll see you soon.

Oh yeah, and this early on, you miss everything else too, but at least you were prepared for that. You can’t prepare against the little things, because they blindside you. That’s their nature.

On that point, you realise what a DICK having an overactive imagination is. Really - given a worrying situation (particularly when you only have some of the information), the imagination will filter all the available data, find the most upsetting parts, and all but convince you that the only possible answer is the absolute worst one (in graphic, internalised high definition). Damn it imagination - if I didn’t directly rely on you for my income, I’d totally lobotomise the shit out of myself.

And what else can you do? You worry about yourself, you worry about her. I don’t want to write about this anymore, but I had to get some words down on paper (so to speak). So once again, I’ll throw myself into work.

My god I’m sick of saying that.