It was 1am, and I was listening to Stabbing Westward (A band name that is as charming in its impression, as it is capricious in its meaning) sing a song called 'Save yourself'. Being alert at that time of night, instead of dead to the world by 9pm, was an unusual feeling and one filled with foreboding. Through the foggy mists of my restless mind came fantasies of futures of my own making. A concept to simple to be grasped when preoccupied with the irrelevancies of everyday existence.
Of course we create our own future. Only yesterday my osteopath was impressing upon me her own tale of success, born from a desire to overcome all obstacles to become, of all lofty and worthwhile vocations, an osteopath. The universe is an amorphous, all-encompassing entity we submit our dreams to and entreat it to include in our own personal destiny, if such a pursuit corresponds to the intentions of the people we are karmically connected to. Your future is, in a sense, preordained if you are too lazy to make something of it yourself but, it is yours for the molding if you are willing to be more responsible for its outcome.
So the short of it is (if you can believe that), I drifted off to sleep with a plethora of beautiful possibilities soaking my subconscious and setting the scene for the most portentous night of dreaming I have ever imagined. As is most often the case, I slept soundly and dreamed naught of any consequence, leaving all possibilities unfulfilled. Fear not, for not even I, the juicy dangler, would leave a story hanging on such an anti climatic note, accepting the fact I have before, most recently in this very journal, probably. That harvest was to be reaped when I applied a little more effort than merely falling asleep. The following morning I took pen and paper, with permission from owners, and wrote down the things I could do, the pros and cons of what I could do, the things I wanted to do, and the C.D.'s I wanted to buy.
Merely putting pen to paper, in the conventional manner that leaves ink behind, it became abundantly clear which order or procession things had to happen in. Although China was the leading option of present, the overwhelming cons demonstrated it was best pursued after completing more preliminary and fundamental objectives. Firstly, I have no money and hence, fruit picking work must proceed it out of necessity. Secondly, obtaining a degree would not only improve working rates and conditions, it would also permit greater flexibility in destination, allowing me to go to Thailand as I had originally intended. Having said that, 'China' should actually be taken out of the second sentence of the paragraph and replaced with teaching overseas.
So there it is. Pick fruit, study, teach. The fact that one naturally follows the other as a prerequisite to reaching its full realisation, illustrates that about an hour of concentrated application would have saved me from 3 months of anxiety. I need to pick fruit to earn money, I need money to study, and I need to study to allow me to earn more money. The beauty and brilliance of it is its simplicity. And how gracefully it exposes all the needless worrying I have done over the matter.
Permit me to plot my future trajectory for you. The short term plan is Adam will join me for the next 2 months in the enviable field of back-breaking labour. Financial reasons have impelled him onto my path, and only a necessary trip to Sydney in the coming weeks stopped Gemma from joining us. After 2 months, I will be affluent enough to have the option of accepting the posting at a Shanghai High school that starts in September. (If I rule that aforementioned epiphany was more in-tune with inebriation than reality.) If epiphany survives closer scrutiny, and back-breaking labour does not live up to its name, I will work on till either uni starts the following March, or take another trip back to Asia. Each year, I will fruit pick over summer to supplement the income the government so graciously provides for its subjects to become better educated and hence, more inclined to vote them out. At the end of this time, I could either pursue a career directly related to the field of study, yet undecided, or use the qualifications to get better pay and working conditions in a country of my choice, rather than one with international border policies so lapse as to let the likes of me in.
Sounds pretty fucking good if you ask me. Surely such a noble undertaking deserves the stamp of approval from such a benevolent universe, if said universe is not the sort that takes offense at swear words or aspersions cast on its omnipotence. The coup de grace is the ordering of events permits a more balanced consideration of successive desired outcomes. Much of my thinking of late has been more preoccupied with mere survival and immediate concerns about employment, rather than lengthy analysis of long term goals. With a steady income liberating my thinking space, I am bound to come up with a much more solid understanding of what to do, when and how.
All that is left to do now is have a quick holiday in the Whitsundays to celebrate the bravado required to come up with such a dashing plan. Partyings most extroverted ambassador, and my closest Brisbane friend Matty, will accompany me for a week of sun, snorkeling and shenanigans. If I survive that, which is never guaranteed with Matty involved, it will be out into the fields with Adam wherever my fainéant reputation has yet to reach.
