The sun is a jagged yellow pill, and I’m swallowing it whole.
I am sitting here, staring at my laptop after a night at Babs that involved enough cold lager and whisky to strip the varnish off a deck. My brain is now a soggy sponge, demanding tribute. Hence, the smashed avocado and eggs for breakfast. Nature’s heavy-duty lubricant to help the brain get into gear for today’s freelance gig.
This extra work is a down payment on the endgame. There are under eight weeks on the clock before I drift back into the nomad life. If I play my hand right, and if the gods of high-speed Wi-Fi and low-cost overheads are smiling, it could be the digital nomad life.
And why not?
Between the soul-crushing cost of existing and fuel prices that make me want to walk into the croc-infested sea, the only sane move is to go where the currency actually buys you a soul. Asia is calling: cheap Pho, $1 beers by the beach, and a life lived on a shoestring that feels like silk compared to the 9-to-5 grind here in Oz.
Instead of letting the noise of the world dictate my pulse, I’m choosing the exit ramp to a corner of the world where the sun sets over a plastic chair, a bowl of noodles and a Bia Hoi, and the only thing I’m responsible for is my own heartbeat.
Until next Sunday, be good to each other. Or don’t. And I need to stop procrastinating and get some work done.
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