Let me tell you something. 
Last night I watched Annie Hall for the first time. And it affected me.
From Annie, to a giant glass conservatory, one of my own romantic encounters, plus an odd fusion of fellow university students and dark emotion, I dreamt in Woody Allen technicolour. Of late, this is what my daily routine has morphed into. A daily routine, which I have to admit,  continues to surprise despite the consistent themes that occur. 
Today is one of those changing moments.
I move into my apartment today. 
Finally. A home. A constant home, and hopefully, still, a constant adventure. 
I refused to complain during my initial five months taking up (some form of) residence in this wonderful city. Being nomadic in Melbourne is rather a pleasant experience and something not to be taken lightly. If I needed to be somewhere, I'd pack my trunk and leave. Easily, simply. Kind of like a wanderer who was unsure of what sort of light he or she may experience when the sun next rose. Dim? Mellow? Pastel? Or an exuberantly brightly burning experience, instilling within him or her the emotion he or she required for that burst of passing time. However I felt during that time, it was enough to suffice. I didn't allow my days to be of any less quality than I felt was okay. Much like Annie. Every day was a surprise, and now I am about to embark into a new phase of my Melbourne world, and I've no idea what it has in store for me, but as always, I'm ready for it.