The other road

I guess there are times when I stop to think about the choices I’ve made, and how I would’ve done things differently. More specifically what my life would’ve been like had I not made certain decisions.

Allow me to let me wander off…

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I stared at her face from across the table. She seemed really cute. The way her fingers wrapped delicately around the wine glass like gently tied ribbons and the way her hair trained expertly behind her ear drew me in and drugged me.

She noticed my attention and lowered her head slightly. Shyly. I could barely hear her whisper, “What are you looking at?”

My mind washed over with many responses, each more witty than the last. Each was sure to make her giggle. My brain swam against the current of phrases and brilliance – I felt like I was drowning.

And I knew that this was the moment.

The waves subsided, and the current went dead. I lifted my head up and spoke the words that would announce my decision.

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“Your tits”

She looks at me with disgust, realising that I’m just like every other predator in the bar. Exasperatedly she walks away to find herself another sap to suck dry.

At ease with myself for not dedicating my life to her servitude, I lean back on my chair and reach casually for my beer. I felt a little guilty for being such a crude and classless male, but I reassured myself that I didn’t need to get involved with that woman.

After I finish my drink, I wander back to my workplace and meander my way through the day. I feel that there should be more to life than this. Job vacancies rise and fall beneath the pages, and I struggle to keep any one job in my sights.

Five o’clock ticks out and I let out a relaxed whistle. The day has closed up and it’s time for me to depart for home.

I briefly stop by the ATM to check my balances – there needs to be enough in there for my bills. The sounds of heels on pavement rhythmically beat into my ears, and the ATM whirrs and clicks as it mechanically spits out my receipt.

I follow the beat to the bus stop where I queue up with a line of dark coats and blank stares. The heavy beat continues but it is interlaced with the faint hiss of a fellow queue member’s Walkman (this is 1998) and the odd howl as a bus drives past.

I tilt my head upwards as though it will lift my face above the swelling tide of noise. I listen for any kind of melody above the tribal noises, but find none.

I wonder what will await me when I return home to my little flat. I secretly hope for something exciting – that the phone will ring and I will be swept up in a new adventure. A bright little voice in my mind squeaks the word, “nope”.

Perhaps I should’ve said “Your eyes”


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Hmmm…

So… in conclusion, life would be slightly different than to what it is now had I not pursued my now-ex-wife. The only difference would probably be the feeling of “what if”

Ugh. I’ll stop there. I did intend this post to be light-hearted and perhaps even humorous, but it didn’t turn out that way.

Rest assured, I am well… I have plans for myself and I’m generally upbeat about the future. It’s just this freaking job I’m in at the moment… I can’t quit just yet, though. I’ve gotta wait for the right time.

In a world of order, boredom rules.

I think this is the limbo time of the year. It’s that point in time where everything exciting has tapered off, and you know that the Christmas lead-up is only a hiccup away from being blasted at us through the television.

Every single conversation I have seems to be about the weather, which – at this time of year – is some mutant condition somewhere between too fucking cold and “a bit warmish, eh?”

I think even the bogans are driving around with their windows only half down – like they’re not sure if it’s too cold or too warm to stick their head out the window to yell “compliments” at women pedestrians.

Naturally, this blog is testament to the all-round feeling of “meh”. I can write something up, but then simply shake my head and delete it all.

My little cube here at work is bland and uninspiring, and I secretly wish for the day that the department announces budget cuts and fucks me off into the real world.

My co-workers who normally use language that would make even the most crass of construction workers turn maroon with embarrassment are really quite sedate these days. I haven’t heard one humorous story about a users ineptitude with their PC all week.

I spent this week looking forward to lunch today, which was spent at the Belgian Beer Bar, eating mussels and drinking beer out of a glass big enough to fit my head. The beer was bland, despite its claims of containing coriander and a truckload of wheat.

Everything in my section seems to be working like clockwork, with nary a squeak from the little mouse in a treadmill that powers the entire infrastructure.

There are no looming events on my calendar… well, nothing until December. There is nothing much to look forward to that is worth getting exciting over. Conversely, there is nothing ahead which fills me with dread, either.

I think balance has returned to the force. And it’s boring the hell out of me.

You Jane. Me Amused

Today, I am going to write one of my usual “I’ve noticed it in a couple places so therefore it’s a ‘phenomenon’” things.

I mentioned in my previous post the Tarzan:Jane ratio. That is, the smaller the “Jane”, then the larger the “Tarzans”

Tarzans are not just limited to the Jane’s boyfriend, though. They can also apply to the male company she keeps (read: the Tarzans who WANT to be her boyfriend, but have slipped into the “Friends Pit of Despair”).

Diminutive Janes always seem to attract larger, burlier guys to them. If they’re not burlier, then they’re simply far more protective of the Jane. Tarzans seem to enjoy this pretence of “being the bigger brother”.

In fact, I have been subjected a few times to a Tarzan warning me to not “screw [Jane] over”, and then outlining the ramifications to me in either exceptional detail, or in a mafia-esque “wipe the bugs off your windshield” suggested manner. I half expected him to correct his tie…

In the case of the taller Janes, the Tarzan still existed, however he was less up-front – perhaps stewing away, waiting for the right opportunity to squeegee the windscreen quietly and unnoticed. Or perhaps he would perform his cleaning duties through means not involving physical intimidation.

A former partner of mine was quite small in stature, and I remember being approached four of her friends (in separate instances), each reminding me to do right by her.

Of those who weren’t large in build, they had a larger voice.

“You respect women, right?” one asked, to which I replied in the affirmative, “good lad” he said before draping his arm across my shoulder in a manly gesture to denote “you’re alright, kid”.

“So you do as well, yeah?” I asked him.

“Of course I do” he said.

“So… in the case of [Jane], you think she can’t look after herself and make her own choices?”

I think it took a couple days after this exchange for this particular Jane to tell me that this Tarzan thought I wasn’t right for her.

I don’t have much else to add to this right now. Please note the tongue in cheek. Feel free to disagree in the comments.

Eavesdropping from on high

I’m finally off the drugs, and have stopped flying around the office, giddily slurring out “good morning” to the hot receptionist.

Unfortunately that also means I cannot use the “I’m on pain killers” excuse whenever something gets balls-ed up.

Also, I have no excuse as to why I haven’t been writing much either. However, after looking back at the last two entries, I think they serve as a great reason to not do drugs of any kind to stimulate the creative process.

So it’s sober or it’s nothing from now on.

I did find that the pain killers did sorta heighten my smug sense of superiority though.

When I became more mobile with this knee (ie I could actually bend it) I walked around a shopping mall, watching everyone. I would listen into conversations that revolved around the latest purchase, or was the precursor to a big purchase.

In most instances, it involved an MP3 player.

I am sorry to say that I eavesdropped on a few conversations in my delirium. Yes, I am rude. Shoot me.

I now know that a few girls are going to be living on two-minute noodles for the next week, but at least they’ve got a couple thousand songs to listen to in order to kill time. How many tunes will be skipped though?

I know one girl whose boyfriend is a real sweetie, but he yells at her from time to time. Her friend says nothing.

$8 for a foccacia is too expensive for some couples.

Boost Juice is a great meal replacement for a certain couple who look like they work out often.

A short, petite girl has some very, very large male friends. When she leaves the group to pick up her lunch, the males start talking about how close a friend they are with her and share stories. Funny… I always thought the “friend only” pit was one to avoid. Also, there seems to be a direct correlation between the smaller the girl, the muscle-ier the male friends.

It’s probably a good thing I’m back at work and off the dosage. At work the conversations are just a warble of techno speak that descends into “Peanuts Teacher” dialogue.

Sober oblivion seems better than drugged awareness.

The drugs STILL do work

I am still coming down from drugs, people… so bear with me.

Spending a week with a bunch of people I considered like-minded, there were a few occasions where tempers got a little frayed.

Naturally, arguments spilled out quickly and higher ground was constantly sought by the two aggressors. What was initially a slight misunderstanding blew out to be an ongoing arm-wrestle between who was right and wrong.

I find that when this happens, the two sides tend to boil it down to semantics and interpretation – as though they’re a defense lawyer in Law and Order.

Is it so hard to simply shake your head and say “Oops, perhaps I was wrong. Thank you for showing me another perspective.”

However, almost every time I saw what was a potentially insignificant item become a cause for division between two camps of complete morons.

Precedent was set as well. Each side would stick to the rules defined by previous arguments to the point where even the physical distance (to the metre) between groups became a reason for further confrontation. Another reason to flex the muscles.

A lot of the time I stood dumbfounded. At various points of exhaustion I wondered if I was too naïve, and that I should embrace the mental carnage in front of me instead of trying to set an example to the opposite.

At the end of the day, I figured that I am far too introverted to be noticed by the whole in order to set an example. By the same token I am too introverted to actively participate in the aforementioned carnage and still be taken seriously.

This reminds me of high school. I was told by a peer who was neither friend nor enemy, “Andy… you’re not one of the cool guys. You’re not one of those nerds that gets picked on. You’re just… Andy”

Oh well.

*shrugs*

This must be how Switzerland feels.

I hope these pain killers wear off soon.

The drugs DO work

Not too sure how to start this all out. It’s been quite a fortnight.

Notwithstanding having a piece of bone the size of a mentos removed from my left knee. Yes, I would have to say that I have been fresh and full of life since its removal.

Its been amusing for people around me to witness a six foot male doped up on Oxychodone hobbling around the place, squeezing his left knee which had swollen to the size of a honeydew melon and stopping only to cite random quotes from The Book of Five Rings.

Being prone for a week is somewhat frustrating, especially after spending the previous week being very physical and pushing my body beyond what I believed were its limits.

However being sedate does lend itself towards thinking, which is a practice I indulge in but rarely actually yield much.

This fortnight I began to see other people in a different way. People who I thought were like-minded peers and understood the nature of my inquisitiveness. I believed these people could look beyond their personal ego and understand the difference between a discussion and a challenge.

It turns out I was wrong.

Those who espoused this idea that we are only competing with ourselves, actually were competing with others. They would speak a mantra that ego should not rule their actions, yet in practice… well… ego did rule.

Since my trip to Japan, I knew that I had ruffled a few feathers with these people. What I didn’t realise was just how deep the ruffling went.

Everyone has their own agenda. I expect this. Hell, I’ve even got my own. However, I don’t think everyone else is there to challenge me. I am challenging myself. Having an agenda is a good thing.

But these people don’t realise that I’m not a threat to them. Not because I am not as able as them… but because their agenda is different to mine.

From what I can see, their agenda involves riding on the coat-tails of someone else’s hard work and being seen in favour.

My agenda is simple.

I want it all.

I don’t care how much these people try to intimidate me, because I am not going to waver. They can strike me as hard as they like and I will get back up. I have been hit before and have bounced back. I will continue to do it again and again.

They can slander me behind my back. I no longer care. Their words will have no impact on my progress, so they are no danger to me.

My confidence is not shown in a boisterous and loud-mouthed fashion. My confidence is the knowledge that when the chips go down, you can be very sure that I have backed myself and not some other horse with a glittery mane.

And even the hardships I face now, I know I will stand back up and shake it all off.

Because whenever a part of you seems to have fallen asleep, you have to keep moving that limb until the feeling returns.