Not long now until I’ll be tying up loose ends, slinging my bag over my shoulder and making my way onto the bus that will take me into the opening stages of my own journey. Right now I’m terrified, I’m unprepared, and I don’t know what I’m going to do when the bus hits the last stop printed onto the crumpled ticket grasped in my hand.
I guess my first move would be to head to the information bureau, enquire as to seasonal work, and enquire as to the location of cheap accommodation for weary travellers. So with my first move being my whole plan, paraphrased into one gigantic feat of fuckery (easily done), I should be able to find somewhere to call the mother ship and tell them I have landed, ready to execute phase 2 of my genius plan of “winging it”.
My buddy told me that this isn’t even a plan, and to call it a general outline at best, is generous. I have to agree with him. But then again, even the best laid plans can go awry. So instead of having a foolproof plan, I’m planning to be the lucky fool, and have a well made plan, fall into my lap. Is it not genius? To avoid failure, is to ensure success, and that ladies and gentlemen, is taking a chance.
Once I get to donnybrook or wherever I decide to start, I’ll figure it out. I’ll make my way, and my book. I’m planning on heading east. I want to work across the country up until winter and fly to NZ again. I’ll have to let my ma know what I’m planning. She has no idea yet. And I don’t want to leave my friends and family, but I can always come back if needed. Hell, I’d come back for one reason, and one reason only, and that’s if she says yes.
Posted from somewhere amongst the tangled interwebs….