Its 3:30AM and i'm wired on pure possiblity. Tonight's one of those Schrodinger's Cat nights, like Christmas Eve (when the possiblity that you're going to get everything you asked for is the same as the possibility that you are going to get nothing good). This morning I had an interview at SBS for an entry level position (a friend recomended me to them). If I get it, i've got something close to finiancial independence (though I don't really want it), something close to a fulfilling job (they showed Oz tonight, and it was good) and the very real possiblity of going somewhere.
If I don't, I'll ask that girl I've got a crush on if she can put in a good word to her superiors at KFC for me.
I hear about it tommorow and part of what makes life so unbearable in a city like this is that every day is multiple minute moments of possiblity, 'something good' vs 'something false'.
Yesterday I stood next to a cute punkish girl at Darling Harbour and watched as a man juggled fire, knives, and axes. Waiting for it to end so I could compliment her on the Lovecraft in her (clear) backpack made me forget any danger I was in, and i watched as the seconds ticked down.
Preliminary approaches were positive. No, she wasn't creeped out (she said). Yes, she was my age (she said). We chatted about politics and music and our crappy jobs. The conversation was going well, and another counter ticked down. I didn't know how long I had until she left, but I needed to get info before then, something to fix this in the future, make it a beggining instead of an incident.
'Hey... I was thinking maybe I could give you a call sometime, maybe go to a show together?'
'Sorry. I like you, but...'
(I didn't, beyond the basic 'Would I give my number out to a guy i'd been talking to for 10 minutes? Probably not', but i wasn't thinking clearly enough to ask for her e-mail address, which may have been safer. Sydney is a small city, and as we talked we had walked into the area of the Bloomsday celebration, where I neglected to ride possiblity to its fullest and didn't even get the girl's number. That girl had a similar name and a similar background; I live life on the assumption that there is an Author and he likes these little recurrences.
I went home and played Soul Blazer for 5 hours. Five hours again today. Its the perfect game-- not too hard, not too easy, with every monster generator destroyed forming a switch, with their own delicious chances-- a change in the immediate dungeon? A new house added to the overworld? A new sword? Its very determined, very planned, and rather easy. I will beat it; it does what I need to do. Life is like that, I think. I have seen much moaning and whining on this site; that girl yesterday is nice, and she will be part of the fabric of the city; i will look for her at Death Disco and other alternative/indie/hardcore themed events I may attend. But that is all... I don't hold with so much of the wistfulness here. It has its purpose, but sometimes you need to live.
I could go on in circles for days, adding nothing to the database. Tommorow I may have a job; tommorow I may not; tommorow i may bump into someone on the street and I will have both a job and a girl; tommorow the world may end. I love living in a city.
(Its 5:41 am. I've been up all night like i'm at a job; i can't even explain why I do this. Its an addiction; its the knowledge that, job or no job, i've got no plans until Wedensday night's D&D game; its the horrible thought that when i do sleep i'll sleep until 4pm tommorw and the day will be gone, without even the enjoyment of watching the sun rise; its the reason there's nothing good written here. I've spent 10 hours or more in front of this today; the radiation is keeping me alive.
If my sporadic typing job calls me tommorow, i'll be dead in my mind and some market researcher won't get the data they need and another product will fail and i'll be broke some more.
On Sunday, after not getting that girl's phone number, I went to the bus stop and saw a girl from uni. Quiet, cute, so quiet I knew nothing about her though I saw her everywhere. She said she worked as a telemarketer; my bus came and I got on it. My life is guided by an author, point and counterpoint, every character a coresspondence. Paralelles and small epiphanies; exactly how I like my stories.