So, I have no keys, no job, no house, no income, no car, and only a few books and half a massive bed to my name. However, I do have a 6 month visa to India, a one way ticket to Goa and £6K in the bank to adventure with.
How am I feeling? Not sure really, not that I am confused about things, it just is. People keep asking if I am excited, but I am not. I just have an image of sitting on the beach with Alex and looking out over the sea, at the year ahead, and wondering what next. We have no plan, except to go where the mood takes us. I want to write my book, of course. In fact I don’t care where I am as long as I have the opportunity to write without the hindrances of having to work. It’s Alex that wanted to go to India, maybe I am not a challenge enough for him!
For a fleeting moment every now and again a little wave of trepidation tickles my belly, but the thought of the alternative dissolves the feeling instantaneously. The idea of staying here to work, my soul bent over some ply wood desk and being daily ravaged by some corporate monster, has me running with unwavering enthusiasm for this venture. For the next year, I don’t have to drive a single bloody thing forward, except a motorised vehicle, I will be going for runny shits as opposed to biobreaks, and I not be huddling any team by conference call on a Monday morning, just my dysentery ridden tummy.
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