Dance with Oranges

Today, a report on my day of picking and packing and sorting oranges in Leeton. Many oranges have been denied access to the first grade orange boxes, despite their flashy shiny coating they received. Orange families are furious by their blunt refusal, where the unlucky citrus’s were thrown into a large bin, designated for either becoming juice or something more ominous. The perpetrator confesses to feel rather guilty sending so many orange coloured balls into their conviction, though states that “she tried to do only what was asked of her”. She apologises for the heartache she has caused.

Tomorrow, a light shower in the morning, temperatures in the low 10’s and a chance of a dance with oranges.

Frosty the Snowman

He was not that type of guy who would willingly dive into anything serious. Although his heart would secretly yearn for commitment and safe affection, he could not find it in himself to put his restlessness at ease. He had tried, believe me, but all had failed. Some he would have wounded, some he would have neglected, some he would have forgotten, and some he would have vexed, though not her. Despite his rebellious ego, his besieged pride, he could not let go of her. It was a paradox; like a maze he could not escape from. There were moments he felt as if he was wriggling and kicking against strangling hands wrapped around his throat, yet the same feeling gave him excitement, ecstasy. She was as menacing, frustrating, displeasing, puzzling and perplexing as a woman could possibly ever be, yet the same she was exhilarating, invigorating and addictive. She felt like a cool, misty breath taken on a frosty morning, with a sky painted icy azure. Your lips would tingle, your hands would prickle and your nose would turn red, and even when the cold would freeze you through to the bones, a passion of life would capture you, as if you have not lived ever before.

My most favourite day of all the 365

Besides making an exception for all the days that are dedicated to Christmas, I nominate this day (the 13th of July) as my most cherished one. I have been running around like a mad dog every time someone mentioned a present and I have been plotting and scheming about where they might be hiding them. Yes, I behave like an actual child when it comes to my birthday, and no, I do not intend to change that. Similarly, I have requested in my list -where I have stated all my wishes and desires for this special day- that I would want as many balloons as the house could possibly hold. My loving boyfriend did indeed purchase at least 50 balloons, though appears sufficiently unable to help provide the air needed to inflate these miniature rubber zeppelins. It has fallen onto me, the burden of supplying  the room with the festive necessities, though I won’t say I am unhappy doing it.

On the list was also a bottle of Glenfiddich, which I received, and an incredibly fluffy bathrobe, which I received, and a lovely emerald play-suit, which I received, and a dog, which I did not receive, though frankly, that was wishful thinking to begin with. All in all, I feel rather content with my birthday so far, and soon I will be celebrating my quarter- of – a- century with friends and wine and Glenfiddich and balloonyness.

As Yoda would say: A party it is, that you desire!

Though I feel like I did something

Considering the past weekend. Today I actually did something, besides lazying around. I have come back from a trip around Australia with my Aussie boyfriend, where after we felt we needed some time to relax and process it all. Naturally, it was needed to have the obligatory yet extremely welcoming meetings with family and friends, where we had a beautiful steak diner and lots of drinks with friends. This is not the topic I would like to talk about though, despite the fact that it was a delight to see everyone’s happy faces again. As a foreigner, in order for me to get a second year visa in lovely, wild, epic Australia, I need to – and this has been on my mind almost continuously, driving my immediate social surroundings insane by my low-key anxiety to fulfill 88 days of farm work (or any other kind of labour that no true Aussie would prefer to do). Although, in principle a great initiative from the government, an absolute torture for me and anyone who 1. would rather stay at home in Sydney, 2. would prefer to be near Sydney (and boyfriend), 3. kind of likes to thought of working at a farm as long as there are any alpacas around, 4. would like to just get their farm work signed off so they can find some actual work they might enjoy. Consequently, since I cannot find a way to avoid it, I was driven to construct an aplication letter to any alpaca farm in the vicinity of Sydney.  I would like to show you my initial invention of the letter I would have loved to send to everyone:

Hi,

My name is Elise and I love alpacas! Considering that your farm contains alpacas means that I would be absolutely thrilled to get to work with these cute and fluffy animals. However, I need to convince you to hire me as your stable hand, where you’ll feed and shelter me for a cheap price and will on top of that pay me at least 800 dollars a week (pls). I know you need me, but you don’t know it yet yourself.
Reasons why you should hire me:
– I am dedicated, stubborn yet flexible, loyal, persistent (or is that also stubborn?), and above all a loving, fun human to work with.
– I would caress your beloved alpacas beyond count and I will love them unconditionally (yes, even if they spit or poo on me).
– You will find that I am quite the fast-learner and will remember stuff easily.
– I am multi-functional! I can also cook quite well, clean fast and effectively, and be used for other labour-involving tasks.
You’re sweet fluffy alpacas need my love and care, so please don’t deny them.
Yours sincerely,
Elise Marion Hartevelt
p.s. Please Hire me, so I can stay in Australia with my Aussie boyfriend.
Yes, I did it in quote marks, what about it. Also, adding my horrific middle name added to my sincerity of the letter, I reckoned. Nonetheless, how much I would have loved to send this e-mail to the whole of NSW where I pleaded I would have stroked the fluffy animals beyond count, I was forced to send something more appropriate. I ended up sending 14 e-mails today to Alpaca farms close to Mudgee and the Blue Mountains, and I am still waiting with excitement and good faith that one of them will find it in their heart to harbor me.

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