The Chapter In Your Life Titled.....

A few weeks ago I was in an East Village Barnes & Noble searching out books to take on my train trip when I had something of a revelation about the progress of my life. It was more a feeling than a concrete clear and purposeful idea, and it carried no real insight, but whilst flicking through the latest issue of The Believer I believed that I had the impetus for achievement and the desire to keep myself constructively occupied. Now this may sound like some ridiculous hippie self-help bullshit, but for a compulsive procrastinator with chronic self-doubt being constantly en marche is essential.
In order to facilitate this new-found attitude, as well as providing material to occupy me during my train ride, I purchased a book by Rory Stewart detailing his walk across Afghanistan following in the footsteps of the 15th Century emperor Babur. I thought the juxtaposition of reading this book whilst riding a train across the US was rather amusing. It was basically an attempt to prove a point to those who thought my train ride was “insane”. I also purchased Reza Aslan's “No god But God: The Origins, Evolution and Future of Islam” I figured with the Democrats controlling both the House and the Senate, I should really get to know the religion of our soon-to-be overlords (should probably enrol in Arabic classes at the CAE as well). Also I feel my knowledge base is very Caucasian-centred and need to expand it.
This may come across like I’m trying to portray myself as having some insatiable thirst for knowledge. But a more accurate assessment would be that I have a fear being uninformed. I’m extremely self-conscious about my lack of university education and I believe that one way around this is to read non-fiction. Another, more helpful, way is to actually attend university, which is my intention in the new year.

Whilst in the bookstore I may have been upbeat, my return to Melbourne hasn’t gone as I expected. There weren't crowds of people bearing palm leaves lining the Tullamarine Freeway as I made my way from the airport. Maybe I wasn’t as popular here in Melbourne as I perceived, or maybe my popularity waned during my absence, but I think I may have over-estimated the reception I’d receive upon my return.
I must admit that my behaviour in the last week hasn’t done anything to rectify this situation. I’ve destroyed one very dear friendship with my perpetual confusion and utter stupidity, become a highly annoying pest to others and thrown a tantrum at the State Library because I could access my Gmail through their wireless service.

Amy and I went to see The Lucksmiths last night. I was just thinking about The Lucksmiths the other day when I jumped the Sandringham Line (the name of a song of theirs) to Prahran. Much of my yearning to be overseas has stemmed from the Australian cultural cringe, I’ve never been comfortable with my national identity. However upon deciding to return to Melbourne I did feel a strong desire to attempt to embrace the city.
The fact is I have always loved Melbourne, I’ve just hated its association with the rest of the country. Whenever overseas, if asked where I am from, I always say “Melbourne” rather than “Australia” in the vain belief that the person asking the question would be aware of the distinction.
The Lucksmiths are able to transcend all the cliché and stereotypes about the country and portray Melbourne as it is. Their songs are the sound of the section of Fitzroy bordered by Alexandra Parade, Brunswick, Smith and Johnston Streets. They are Victorian bungalows and London Planes buckling the asphalt. While this imagery is lovely and reassuring, it had the unfortunate effect of providing unrealistic dreams for Amy and I in our house-hunting. It would be extremely desirable for us to be able to find a lovely house in an agreeable and convenient area, however budget constraints and sizable competition are hampering this ideal.

And so at present my New York revelation has become somewhat deflated. I'm homeless, jobless and once again feeling rather stagnant.