Where am I??

6 Mar

At least once every few days I look around and I think to myself, “Where the fuck am I?” (Excuse the profanity, I tried using “heck” and even “hell” but neither word seemed to really capture what I feel.)

Don’t worry, I’m not in some drugged-out stupor unsure of which way is up or down.  I know physically where I am, but it confuses and amazes me how I got here.  It feels as if life is one of those mechanical walkway things at the airport and has taken me to where I am without my input or help.  But I have helped.  I built my mechanical walkway thing.

Yesterday as I sat outside in a broken lawnchair chatting with my Welsh housemate trying to understand the story he was telling amidst all the curse words, I got that feeling.  How did I get here and who is this guy??!  The tattoos of naked women on his back, sculls on his arms and barbed wire around his nipples tell me I should be nervous.  But the story about how he began his collection of antique bottles makes me think differently.

And when I’m at work, givinng the 45-year-old dishwasher relationship advice.  I’m in the middle of cutting mushrooms and telling the guy that he shouldn’t be seeing women who are dating married men, it hits me.  Who are you and what is this dirty cafe that I’m working in?

Or while I’m holding my neighbors pet snake and he is telling me that when snakes misbehave you have to hit them on the head.

And when I’m running along the coast at sunrise, trying to take in the beauty of it all because I know I just can’t take it for granted.

Throughout the past year I constantly wonder how I arrived at my situation…

When I was living in a car, hanging out in McDonalds to use their wi-fi.  When I was working in a bar in a mining town spending my shift chatting with a man named Wombat.  When I was cleaning the bathroom at a hostel in exchange for paying rent.  When I worked at a nightclub in Darwin until five in the morning.  When I was couch surfing and drinking beers with the immigration officer hosting me.  When I spent a week sleeping on fold-out beds at a rifle club in Western Australia.  And when I realized that if someone wanted to find me it would be very very hard.

Its strange because right now in my life, more than I ever, I am deciding exactly what I want to do, when I want to do it and how I want it to happen.  But for some reason, more than ever I feel like I have absolutly no control over what is going to happen next.

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