I’m Alex.
I live in Melbourne and work as an accountant. A fair amount of my day is spent trying to make numbers behave. Sometimes the answer is one row away from where I’ve been looking all morning.
Outside work, life tends to be smaller and less easily arranged: a tram ride home, something cooked from the vegetable drawer, a chapter before bed. I like the straightforward part of cooking, once I’ve stopped standing in front of the fridge and actually started. I’m reasonably good at making tomorrow’s lunch. Remembering to take it is a separate skill.
The things I notice
A cup left beside the sink. The light in a photograph. Someone trying to fold a newspaper around their coffee. I often notice these things before I work out why they’ve stayed with me. Writing them down seems a better use of that habit than thinking about them for the rest of the afternoon.
I can also turn a simple message into several imaginary conversations. I’m trying to leave a little more room for the actual one.
People in these pages
Elena’s gallery invitation, a photograph from Lia, Steve’s joke about a sunset, Josh appearing unexpectedly on the Route 96 tram. Those are some of the moments I’ve kept. The names turn up here because they’re part of my life, even when I haven’t explained the whole history.
Why I keep this journal
I came back to these pages on 7 October 2026, over lunch beside a café window. There was a gap before that. I’ve left it a gap, rather than trying to account for everything at once.
For now, I’m writing down the day while I still remember it. Sometimes that means a conversation. Sometimes it means the progress of a cup from the bench to the cupboard. Both seem worth a little space.