31 January 2027
Sunday. The gentleman downstairs has written in his diary that I started packing too soon. I would like to point out that he has been polishing the same shovel since 2021.
Box one: spare bow ties, lilac. Box two: clipboards, assorted. Box three: patient notes, labelled in my best capitals. Box four: a cardigan, with a microphone inside it, for safety. Lorraine is staying in Melbourne, where she belongs, so the cardigan is for a new microphone I have not chosen yet.
Nobody has told me which day. Escape This says Brisbane will open in the first half of the year, and I have taken that to mean the whole of the first half is a sort of very long waiting room, which I have always found the most hopeful part of any appointment.
I have no address, no street and no idea how many patients the new cell will take. I have only a feeling, and the feeling is: humid.
Until then my three practices stay open, in Northbridge, on George Street and on Collins Street, and every one of them has a speaker warmed up and waiting.
— Your Therapist
