Returning to Melbourne is always a scary
prospect for me. Cougars don't stalk me in the front yard and the wardrobe is
boogey man free the last time I checked. Grey skies that look like they've been
finger painted by an obsessive compulsive elephant are hardly cause for much
concern either. Revisiting the sedate, and frequently depressive life I left
eight years ago, makes me jump at shadows as I walk in the footsteps of my own
ghost. The vast difference between then and now convinces me of the power of
positive change.
The more confident I felt about going to
Tasmania though, the less I felt like I was going to stay. The happier I was
under taking a new adventure, the more I felt inclined to have a three month
holiday at taxpayers expense instead. I would never advocate rorting the
welfare system, but getting free money every fortnight is a tempting offer to
perfect the humbleness of receiving charity. People may disagree with the
liberties I take when decisions about my next career move are not implemented
at the next possible moment. I see it as an invaluable opportunity to ensure my
next vocation / vacation further contributes to my personal growth. I repay the
community back by smiling at old people in the street. But seriously, I love
life so much that I actively encourage positivity in everyone I associate with.
So much so that I'm thinking about studying to become a life coach!
Well, making my lunch after writing that
probably allowed enough time for the laughter to die down, but I am quite
serious. Some people, and nearly every relative I have, would say that my life
is either a pathetic Peter Pan like trip devoid of any parallels with reality,
or an ongoing regression into immaturity as I actively avoid all forms of
responsibility and commitment. Hardly the position to guide people to make the
most of their life. I think everyone could stand to gain from being more open
to everything that life has to offer. I accept that some people can't do much
under certain circumstances, but isn't being more optimistic about things much
better than the alternative?
Anyway, five hours after arriving in a
freezing cold Hobart being buffeted by sheets of rain I had pretty much decided
that I was not going to give Tasmania any more than a week. A one hour flight
from Melbourne could not be considered a protagonist even if it had of
fulfilled its ominous potential. Laura had taken over the role of worrying
needlessly over my welfare when I hadn't shown up for the flight four hours
before departure. Arriving at the gate five minutes before boarding I was
greeted by two zombies. Paul hadn't shaved for at least 60 hours and his hairy
heritage had given him a full and luscious beard in that time. Had he strapped
a baby to his chest, he would have been a dead ringer for the 'roofie' moron
from 'The hangover' movie. His extreme fragility on all things locomotive meant
he'd thrown up everything he'd eaten in the last week and should have strapped
a spew bucket to his chest instead. Laura had slept as much as me on the long
trip from Broome and only the magnitude of Paul's illness over shadowed her own
delicate stomach.
Unfortunately for some other poor sucker, I
sat at the other end of the plane to the regurgitators. Unfortunately for me, I
ended up next to two little brats using the enclosed space as the boundary of
their wrestling ring. That test of patience quickly escalated to DEFCON 1 when
they swapped seats with proud new parents. They were sporting a tiny toddler
they may have stolen off Paul if he actually was the dude from the movie. I
envisaged the short flight ending with me in police custody if the baby put on
an extended vocal solo. Defying the odds, and costing me the small wager I had
made with my conscience, the little cherub didn't utter a sound. I never looked
closely, so it could have just been a doll. Or drugged up.
Twenty minutes later, drugs featured again
in this tale. One lone joint had made the trip in my bag. Less than I normally
travel with under the guise of alleviating the 'crippling pain in my foot' that
stops me from properly playing the piano. Not that anyone needs to know that I
have never even tried to play the piano. Some overly enthusiastic puppy was
running along the baggage carousel hunting contraband like the junkie it had
been trained to become. Some kindly traveler distracted Snoopy the smack addict
with a large haul of lamingtons, probably taken as a parting gift from an
overly generous Grandmother. I scuttled off with my medication, watching as the
dog returned to duty somewhat disappointed his jackpot was replaced with a
single little dog biscuit.
Rain pummeled the city prompting our taxi
driver to point out that Hobart hadn't had consecutive sunny days since March.
Awesome! The perfect place for such a sun lover like me to come to. We checked
into the same hostel we stayed at in February, largely because it was the only
one that still had vacancies at this time of year. Our eight bedroom dorm
hardly had enough space for beds, let alone backpacks, and I was instantly
reminded of the benefits I enjoyed having only Alex to share my room with in
Broome. An offer to stay in Melbourne over Christmas and house sit Simon's play
mansion suddenly got upgraded from improbable to highly likely.
Then I caught up with Trevor. It was his
wedding in January that had prompted me to travel to Tasmania in the first
place. Having an unequalled passion for his job, and the amber fluids he gets
paid to dispense, I was inspired to aim higher than three months as a leech
suckling the welfare nipple dry. The improvement in my attitude was aided by a
night of stories that painted Hobart in a better light than the one I was
viewing it in at the time.
Is anyone else aware of how this very story
contradicts the seriousness of my earlier claim to want to be a life coach? Mr.
'Give life a hug' finds another chance to have an amazing time like Brisbane,
Bowen and Broome have all proven to be, and starts off thinking about sitting
on his lazy ass and only working hard on his beer belly. Perhaps I need to
learn consistency before I try and teach spontaneity!
