We were at my Uncles farm for two days to help him harvest his grape crop. For better or worse, my Uncle and Aunt had me pegged as a thorough waste of molecules since an early age and I was determined to prove them I had some nous. Nousnessly, (A new word if ever there was one!) I had proven my worth with an effort of Spartan like dedication. Adam had covered himself in glory with a similar effort only dimmed by the fact he didn't have a point to prove like I did.
Gestures of gratitude had been made, mostly in the form of cash. A healthy portion of praise was served up that did my ego and a new found appreciation of my genealogy no harm whatsoever. We were driving away, or being chased by someone dangerous if you were to gauge our intent purely from the speed Adam was driving. Dust was thick on the dirt track, as was the air from the car in front attempting a similar get away.
Suddenly a tree confronted the car's immediate path and ninja like reflexes saved us from a gory impaling. The texture of the road turned the accidental over correction into a roll down the side of the embankment. A bump on the noggin was all that resulted from watching the horizon do a 360 through the smashing glass of the front wind shield. My sunnies didn't fair so well, and neither did the two cans of alcohol we were drinking. There were only our second drinks though, so alcohol exerted no influence over the crash. We thought it best to hide that tiny little piece of evidence anyway, just in case accusing fingers were being pointed.
Various vehicles were employed to tow the wreck back to Melbourne. Thanks to the structural damage sustained, it was a write off. $1,500 gone and no insurance. Adam and I spent a valuable portion of our part time income paying off something that ended up getting squashed to the size of a rubix cube. Yeah, alcohol took up a larger portion of that income than what we should have allowed for as well. And food is always a necessary consequence of the desire to keep living. Its not cheap when you insist on eating like a King though.
Adam had probably started to see me as a bit of a bad luck charm by then, and decided another state was the safest place to continue our friendship. I took him to the airport one cloudy Melbourne morning in early May and sent him on his way with a big Churchill cigar. It was a pleasant 3 months we had spent retoxing. And now 3 months later again, I am still trying to figure out what we did then, if anything. It must have been good fun, cause I only have good memories.
From then I have drifted relentlessly on the seas of uncertainty. Even with my procrastination, I was surprised how long Melbourne had been able to hold me in its unpredictable embrace. I was not surprised the cold winter weather was making me want to shove hot coals up chilled orifices. Still I procrastinated some more. There is a definite skill to it for those who think delaying a decision until almost destitute does not take a special talent. Admittedly, its not a very helpful talent. In fact, its best consigned to evolutions waste basket.
Luckily enough I received a generous reimbursement from my tax contributions for the year. That was probably due to my desire to space work out to the barest minimum and only earn enough to get by. Not enough to breach the lowest possible tax bracket, and cha-ching I'm paid back for living like a pauper. Flush with unexpected cash, I legged it up to Brisbane for four days of partying with Matty. Four days is never enough with that dude, the good times too numerous to recollect. Enough fun was had until I return for another holiday, but not to live again.
And then I find myself in Airlie beach. Why? I am yet to figure that out, but I am drinking enough to have some sort of divine epiphany sooner or later. That epiphany might be along the lines of how hard it is to feed yourself when you have no income. I allowed myself a week to get a feel for the place and what I want to do. And I am getting the feeling I don't really want to work that hard. A lifestyle job might be more like my line. Then again, six months in the mines would cash me up enough to spend a few years in Asia. Decisions, decisions! Jean Paul Satre said something highly relevant to the decisions we have to make in life, and if I was able to quote him, I might appear less like an uneducated hobo. If the shoes fits.......
