To encapsulate the entirety of what has happened in the last year in one concerted effort would be a most mammoth task. In sheer literary terms it would perhaps compare to the likes of 'The Iliad' or 'Odyssey'. Only without the sweaty abs, the scantly clad Greek women and a little three lettered word called 'war'. So all in all, my story could be somewhat bland, something that one might perhaps come across in your grandmother's bi-weekly subscription of Knitting Secrets (for People with Cataracts). But hey, last time I checked woollen jerseys are filled with warm fuzzies and all the fluorescent colours of the rainbow.
I returned to Palmerston North for work. Or in truth, I actually returned to Palmerston North because of my incessent fear for my festering mortgage. Having a mortgage feels much like an itch in the middle part of your back - the part of your back where through millions of years of our primate evolution we have lost the ability to reach with our spindly arms and supposedly useful opposable thumbs. Unfortunately for us, the only way the itch will stop its cruel supernatural torment is for us to pit ourselves aganinst the dark abyss of work, and all the rest it offers.
Fortunately for me, the dark abyss wasn't actually too bad.
My friends were all still there. I love them. I love them because they're like pets who would obediently stay at home, clean themselves and cook great food while you're away. Joseph also had a rather impressive collection of alcohol and tried his very best to give me fulminant liver failure as a parting gift. Luckily for me, my many years of binge drinking as an Otago undergraduate student prepared me for such darstardly plans. I will also miss the cigars, the poker, and Kevin's generous supply of plum wine.
For some strange and bizarre reason it was also the year where the majority of my friends and collegues decided to leave the fine city for bigger and brighter pastures. I see half of them have decided to migrate to Auckland - the land of the long white traffic. I think they've made a mistake. I think I might miss them.
Work itself was ok. But I have come to the realisation that it really wasn't quite me. There just happens to be quite a few things I'd like to do and I can't seem to find the time should I keep commiting myself to a daily barrage of the mundane. So in sheer coincidence I have also come to the conclusion that there maybe a greener pasture awaiting for me elsewhere... like here, in Christchurch - where I might just have the perfect plan for myself...
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