Shopping in Bugsplat, shopping in Bigsplat.

It's a cool sunny Saturday, and Gray and I have just returned from the Bugsplat Food Co-op where we bought fresh beans, beetroot, cos lettuce and cherry tomato; packages of tofu and soy burgers; bags of brown and basmati rice; and a jar of pickled eggplant.

I wonder how long we could go if we just bought stuff from the Food Co-op?

Like brilliantly coloured aquarium fish in a fishtank full of trout, Bugsplatians don't blend in that well when they're down in Bigsplat to do their shopping. Bigsplat is hotter when it's hot, and colder when it's cold. Shopping days in Bigsplat are painful. People are less friendly. Fellow Bugsplatians smile at each other on the sidewalks, and the girl at the bank is nice, but in general, people seem very unhappy. And sometimes cars full of angry young men drive past, too fast, and glare menacingly at the world through the windows. And sometimes, people scowl at each other, perhaps for private reasons. Calypso hates it, says it's like a city but without the good bits, says there's a bad energy there.

We've had a hard week. Real estate anxiety is a special circle of hell. All those lives we've led, kitchens we've painted, gardens we've planted, pets born and buried. It's exhausting.