People have always said to me "Luke, it's not about the quantity, it's about the quality". So why is it so wrong that I am fully prepared to wish away the next 10 months in order to have the most amazing year of my life? Why are so many people completely content on having two mediocre years as opposed to having one dull year and one breathtaking year? Or is it all about instant gratification? Do ordinary people just live for the moment? Enjoy each day? Maybe I have it wrong.
I was speaking to my parents yesterday and I mentioned what I would do if I came back. That word. "If". I think my Mum was slightly shocked to hear me use that. I'm not sure she realises that when I leave for travelling, I do not plan on coming back to Kent. I might not come back at all. Who's to say that I won't fall in love with Australia and never want to return? Granted, odds are that I'll come back to the UK. I love my family dearly, and I know leaving them for travelling will be the hardest part.
Speaking to Martin in the Barbers, I didn't realise he had similar thoughts flying around in his head. He wants to be a Miami Muscle-head. Sure, I don't think he's looked into it in as much detail as I have, but the idea is there. Which reminds me, I must keep up-to-date re the Green Card Lottery. I'm going to be all over that like a cheap suit. I love being born in Northern Ireland.
So I'll be putting in another 8-hour shift this Saturday, which means my 16 hours for July are done. It's likely I'll end the month on around 30, as I just can't bring myself to only doing 16. See, I have worked out this fantastic method of motivating myself: One hour of work on a Saturday pays for one day in Thailand. So effectively, for every overtime hour I work this year, there's another 24 hours I don't need to work next year. If my office knew I was jetting off, I would so have that on a Post-It on one of my monitors.
Death Cab on Thursday. If they don't play 'I Will Follow You Into The Dark' I think I will cry. I am well and truly buzzing.
Apparently they have loads and loads of flavours of Pop-Tarts in the US. We have Chocolate and Strawberry over here and they cost around £2 a box, which is fucking extortionate. If any of my lovely American followers can confirm or deny this rumour, I would really appreciate it. If the number of flavours reaches double figures, I'm going to cancel my return flight home from Boston. Or I'm going to order extra luggage allowance.
I found my identical hair twin. Finally. Novak Djokovic. When my hair hasn't been flattened with a beanie, gelled, or mutilated by a turkish man, it looks like Djoko's hair. Congrats to the man, he won Wimbledon AND he became my identical hair twin, all in the same week. I'm not sure what honour is more prestigious.
I have 85 days left to get back into pre-Magaluf shape, which means I'm back up to two large protein shakes a day and 3 large trips to the toilet a day. Great. I refuse to get back on the tuna though. Almost 2 years I had a tin of tuna every day. I am sticking to my Billy Bear sandwiches from now on thank you very much.
Sometimes when I write my Blog, I feel like the comedian Tim Vine. I feel like nothing ever really connects and I'm just reeling off random musings. If only I was as funny as him.
Luke
