Stardust (Complete)

Pens And Postcards

Slightly Stoopid: World Go Round

Picture me flying down the highway, rolling my way

I can sit and marinate, but why should I stay?

It's probably completely crazy to do this.  Scratch that.  This is totally insane, but fuck it.  
We've all heard the horror stories of the road trips gone horribly, horribly wrong, but, if I do happen to meet an axe murderer along the way... well, I guess I'll deal with it then.

I needed this.  I'd spent the last eight years of my life in the same job, doing the same shit, day after day.  I was almost twenty four, and literally all I knew was how to cook takeaway food.  It was a locally owned, family run business, where I was the only one who wasn't related.

Don't get me wrong, I knew I had it good, there,and I was grateful for it everyday. But there was nowhere to go, not forward, not up, not even sideways.  I was stuck on an endless loop of dejavu, same shit, different day, over and over and over and over and over...

I came to this realisation two weeks ago when I dreamt that I got to work and there were no $20 notes in the till.  Then, I went to work that morning and, believe it or not, but there were no $20 notes in the till.

My life was too fucking predictable.  It was time for a change.

I wasn't the spontaneous type.  I was quiet, kept to myself and always played by the rules, so, of course my family freaked when I told them last night about my plan, or lack of, really.

No, I didn't know where I was going, or how long I was going for or who I was with or when I planned to be back.  I had absolutely no agenda.  I just packed up my car, and left this morning.

I'm not known as the kind of person to throw myself into the deep end, I liked my comfortable, predictable life just fine.  But I was getting too comfortable, too quick to be content with settling when my heart drove me forward.  How are we to find who we are when all we know is comfort?

I'd been driving for just under five hours, the boringly familiar landscape of my home town, Sunshine Point, giving way to unexplored territory.  I decided to make my first stop.  

I was in some little beach side town that was probably once full of run down fishing shacks.  They had now been turned into multi- million dollar condos over looking the vast blue ocean, barely a trace left of the tiny fishing village it had once been.  

The place was full of yuppies and tourists, surf shops and cafes.

I'd managed to find a park outside of one of the many souvenir shops where I bought a pen with the town's name printed across it, a bottle of coke and the postcard I had just dropped into the mail to be sent off.

And now that that was done, there was no going back.