As you read this you should know that its about 3.30 in the morning and the boredom of working five Night Audit shifts in a row is making me to loose my mind a little bit.

I think that it was looking at a picture of a semi-frozen Niagara Falls that had me wondering why it was that running water takes a colder temperature to freeze than its static counterpart. The caption for the photo said it was minus fifteen or something at the time so I was thinking that if its that cold, surely the whole thing should be frozen still - a testament to the season, an eerie reminder that it is really, really fucking cold.

The Oracle as he shall be referred to in this instance answered my question without the slightest hint of condescension - "it’s probably friction". Makes sense, and if I had have paid a bit more attention in High School I never would have needed to ask - those little molecules bouncing off each other, generating enough heat to keep that part of the river/waterfalls temperature above zero.

Sometimes though, in my more philosophical moments in the wee hours of the morning I like to think about it slightly differently - I like to think that those little guys are running, staying low to avoid the cold winter air, bouncing off rocks and huddling together as they scream their lungs out, plunging over the landmarks edge. Defying the laws that bind them. Avoiding the inevitable. Reaching for the impossible.

Call it selfish, childish or just plain idiotic. To be honest, I don’t really care, but this is where I see myself right now. Avoiding the normal life path - I know what I’m meant to do now that I’ve finished uni. I’m meant to get a real job right? Marriage? Mortgage? Children? That’s the normal thing to do, is it not?

Get myself an entry level job where I can work my way up. Sure I won’t enjoy the job but if I work hard enough I’ll be able to reap the benefits later, you know, work my way up the corporate food-chain. While this is happening, I’d buy a house of course. It won’t be mine, well not for twenty odd years or so, but I’ll call it mine and fill it with all the pointless crap I’m meant to fill it with. Electric can openers, plasma TVs and leather furniture thats bought from Ikea rather than saved from the tip. The house will of course remain empty, up until I find a way to complete myself with a wife. We’d as I’d then be referred to as would then start spawning replacements, so long after we were gone there would be something to prove that at one point we had actually existed.

I’m sorry, its just not for me. I can’t bring myself to do it. Not yet anyway. Right now for some reason, I’m not truly happy unless I can fit my life into a backpack and carry it. The smell of a new city. The excitement of not knowing whats around the corner. Knowing without a shadow of a doubt that once I’ve learned as much as I can from one place I can simply pick up my bag and get on a bus/plane/train and move onto the next.

My trip back to Australia helped me realise how much I love "home". How much I enjoy and miss the company of my friends and family. And sadly, how this ridiculous life-style is damaging some relationships. I’m growing apart from some people and I have no-one else to blame but myself. Right now however I just don’t know what else to do. This feels right. This feels like what I’m meant to do. Maybe I’m too young to grow-up, but I’m probably old enough to know better.

All I know for certain is that sometimes the most logical answer isn’t necessarily the right one.