I’m sitting on my bed as the minutes…
…veer too close to midnight, insisting I write to you.
Here’s a fantastically imperfect account of my Friday for your delectation.
Began the day ‘downward dogging’ with my youngest boy. We’re on day 11 of a 30 Yoga Movement Challenge where the twists, turns and bends bring the structure but ten tiny minutes doing something I love, with a human I adore, brings the joy.
Some easy hours at work followed. Lunch was a home-made tuna rice salad, bathed in olive oil and dotted with apple slices; because quirk is a must-have ingredient in a menopausal woman’s diet. Browsed a second-hand clothes app; do I need another sparkly top resembling a disco glitter ball? You bet your sweet sequins.
High-tailed it home in the afternoon to throw another metaphorical ball in the air – it’s my second gig juggle. Then I dressed for the evening’s frivolities – opening night of Sydney’s Festival of Dangerous Ideas. Enroute to this orgasm for the intellectual elite, I popped into a vintage boutique and bought an oversized red heart pendant. Then it was Festival time and Tim Minchin’s almost orchestral presentation, Coward.
Dude was on brand – raucous, wry, painfully clever, riff-happy. His audience adored and guffawed all at once. Fascism-trashing, f and c-words filled the air. Love, spirit and art, played their parts too and then he said,
“Storytelling is empathy manifest.”
And the giant red heart pendant in my bag throbbed.
That’s it. That was my day.
© Phyllis Foundis 2026