Even after 2 years, the memory is strong. The dream lives on, growing, changing, adapting to the newer perspective. I want to reach out and grab it, to hold it tight until it becomes real, or it truly dissipates. Regret and desire all mixed in with a hint of words unsaid. Imagination, dreaming - they all serve their purpose. Occasionally, melancholia hits, and you just can’t sleep.
There’s still days when I think that this is it, and from tomorrow, it’s back to university, I’m done pretending, or that the alarm clock is going to go off and I’ll wake and it’ll still be February 6th, 2006, and I have yet to turn up for my first day, or it’s May 21st, 2005, and I’ve got to fly to Sydney today for my interview. After a year and three months, I’m still not sure if it’s real, that what I’m doing makes a difference to someone’s life and all that money in my bank account is there for a reason. I’m still younger than the new grads this year, by a year or two yet, and I’ll be younger than the grads next year too (though they’ll be closer). I’m ahead of schedule, dammit. ...
A night of wine, women and song on the water, the middle of the harbour under the stars and surrounded by old friends and new… Well, that may be exaggerating a bit, what with less wine and more vodka, but ’twas a wonderful night. And now another year begins… It’s strange to think that nearly 10 years to the day, I moved to Sydney from the countryside. Year 7 would start in a few weeks, and in many ways, I was in transition. Nearly 6 years ago, I moved to Melbourne, no longer the country boy but equally lost and in transition. Each time I have moved, I’ve grown in more than just the physical sense, gaining abilities to adapt I believe serve me well. Last year, it was fiscal responsibility and discipline that I had to learn, along with a host of survival and organisational skills. ...
The suitcase was put away today, the contents having found their way to the spin cycle. I’m still not out of the traveller mindset completely, with many things scattered across my bedroom awaiting proper organisation of some sort. Jet lag appears to have waited for a day, finally catching up yesterday and delivering a right thumping to my ability to stay awake at work. So much has happened over the last 10 weeks at work; while it’s not totally unfamiliar, it’s certainly something of a reset from the comfortable groove I had found myself in before I left for London. I’m re-learning all those little shortcuts that you invariably pick up over time. A couple of faces have gone in the (relatively) short time I was away, which is a little sad. The sun is still up when I leave work, which is awesome, but feels somehow wrong. ...
I want out. I’m over this whole training program, I’m over London, I’m over waking up each morning in that hotel bed, over catching that same over-crowded tube every morning, over this little niggly things that get to you when they build up some steam over time. I’m over the taste of the water, which is crap. I’m over the crap food. I’m over the old buildings. I’m over the lack of good options for lunch. Over autumn in October, over talking platitudes all the time, over the grey skies and tiny streets and the sheer quaintness of it all. ...