Danny Devito's and well I guess not all that much else.

Dear Readers,

Thin as a bald man's hairline you were before, now I expect there are even less of you since I have all but stopped writing. I haven’t stopped writing actually but I can’t seem to finish a damn thing. Like my dispatches, Sydney to San Francisco. Half a dozen word documents waiting patiently to get posted and there is so much more I wanted to tell you. How I have rediscovered the beaches since my Mom has been here. How I stopped counting down the days till I get to go home. Now I count the days I have left here. You see four weeks is the blink of an eye. Shorter than Molly Ringwald’s career, shorter even than Michael Anthony Hall’s (since we don’t count anything after 1992) and suddenly I am wishing for another month but then I worry if I extend it will I just be prolonging, stretching out the end of something that is over. Bittersweet it is. But I suppose bittersweet isn’t bad…it’s just the end or a new beginning. But that’s a little deep.

Sydney has turned cold. The Hunter Valley, that only two months ago was hotter than Hades, was on the icy side this time around. Crisp cold air. And when I booked our hotel room I couldn’t figure out why fireplaces were an amenity there when it’s Australia people. Call me stupid but until I came here I never thought twice about the weather. I assumed it was always warm. Surf and sun weather. Shorts and flips flops, tans and tank tops. I was wrong., very wrong. And now my one sad little scarf is going to have to carry me through the next four cold weeks because what kind of sense does it make to buy winter clothes when I am going back to summer. Right?...Right? Or maybe just one jacket…

Anyway I'll leave you with just this. The above is a self portrait I took. It's my haircut...oh sweet hair that I miss so much. It only took 4 weeks but I am done melodramatically running my hands through my hair lamenting the loss of it and the good old days when it fit nicely into a thin but neat ponytail.

So my cousin Chris calls these stubby attempts at ponytails my Danny Devito's. Which if you ask me pretty much makes the haircut worthwhile.

Until next time, which I promise won't be quite so long. Think of me, two Danny's and a headband running through Hyde Park. Running desperately trying to justify that ginger brulee tart I ate earlier today.

**When I say one sad scarf I mean two pashminas, 3 sweaters, 1 hoodie and enough hats to put the mad hatter to shame. But okay still no jacket...