Perhaps?

Perhaps, I need to go back to uni? Learn something new? Get the brain thinking again? Get inspired.

I should have done it years ago, when I first started studying part time, when was that? The year 2000. I should have finished it then. 

Gone all the way. Kept going, not stopped. Why did I stop? I'm not really sure now. Stupid me. What was I thinking?

I should have kept going. Just done the creative writing degree. Gone all the way and not stopped at diploma. Proved something, if only to myself.

I loved it. Loved the feeling. 

I wasn't stupid after all. I could do it. I did do it. Finally. Why did I stop? Stupid me. I should have 2 degrees.

But, I always stop. Always. I never quite finish anything, or, at least, when I do it has been one almighty struggle. Yeah, sometimes I get there, on the rare occasion, I manage to finish something. There is no rule, there are no indicators as to what. It is random, annoyingly so.

In fact, my creative writing diploma is the only thing I have really finished. Creative writing is what I always wanted to do. Well, truthfully, the only thing I have ever really done.

My business degree doesn’t count, that was a struggle, and I did it in broken up years. 1 ½ years and then I dropped out. I went and lived in London, and completely wasted those two years living there. I worked as a barman off The Strand. I came back to get qualifications and to return permanently to London. I did another year of business two years later, then a couple of years part time after that when I worked as a barman, the best job I ever had.

Then I’d finally finished that degree, which bought me no joy. I hated it. I hated uni, it was never the great time of discovery. It was always an enduring time of loneliness and isolation. I have no friends from those uni days. And I was so disillusioned by it that when I was offered a job of managing bars, I jumped at it, never wanting to be an accountant. Turning my back, as I liked to say working on the 40th floor of the Rialto.

My favourite great Aunt died and left me money and I bought a house in the inner eastern suburbs.

I loved managing bars. Working nights. Starting around 4pm, finishing around midnight, or before on quiet nights. None of this 3am bullshit. Going out with the guys after work. Sleeping in, getting up around 10am. Heading out for breakfast. Hanging out with my Rottweiler, Oliver. I flirt with the wait staff, sleeping with two of them.

Life was good. I studied creative writing part time until I had my diploma. I was going to be a writer.

My 20s years slipped away. 

My dog died. And, I met my forever partner who encouraged me to stop working nights. So, I got a job in finance.

My forever partner wanted more things, new cars, a house by the sea.

I worked harder, got promotions. We got a beach house and a two Range Rovers, which my forever partner thought was ‘cute’. We got friends who had beach houses and Range Rovers who talked about self manged super funds and their success on the stock market.

I worked on the 40th floor of the Rialto in a management accountant position. We bought a house far too big for us in the inner north.

I was well into my 30s when my forever partner started working late. Just occasionally, at first, then more frequently. We were both busy.

I walked to work and I began to realise the most enjoyable part of my day was the early morning walk through a semi deserted city. I left home early, as I woke up early, then I could leave work early. I wanted to get another dog but my forever partner didn’t want dog hair on the furniture.

We stopped having sex. We were both too tired.

Then, on my 35th birthday, my forever partner shared the reason for their many hours of working late at work, and left me that day for one of our friends with a Porsche 4WD and a bigger house than ours.

My forever partner got our house, I didn’t really fight, I never really liked its marble and pretension. If your house has more bathrooms than bedrooms, you are officially a wanker. The tenants moved out of my inner suburban terrace, the same one I bought when I was managing bars, just as it turned out, at the same time, and I packed up my stuff and moved there when my no longer forever partner was away from the house, without telling them.

I didn’t share my plans, and my now not forever partner never asked. We never saw each other again. Our lawyers finalised the details. I didn’t really ask for anything particularly, so ‘we’ were wound up pretty quickly.

So, I never really finished all of that. I just walked away, well, drove away in my now unmatched Range Rover. I thought of selling it, but I didn’t.

The first morning of walking to work from the inner east, I decided that I couldn’t do it any more, didn’t want to do it any more, so I resigned that morning when I got to the office.

I gave four weeks notice, then when I had two weeks to go, I decided I just couldn’t do another minute, and an old barman work mate of mine who’d since become a doctor gave me two weeks sick leave and I used 2 weeks of my sick which I had never used before that, so I never really finished my 40th floor job.

I bought a puppy, I called him Rudi. I take him to training classes in Bulleen. I take him to the same coffee shop I used to take Oliver and eat breakfast. I even flirt with the wait staff, although it is now just fun, something to do. I don’t have any intensions behind it. The owner’s wife looked at me the other day and asked, “Have you been away somewhere?” I opened my mouth but no words came out.

I have money saved. I got a casual bar job just to pay the bills.

I am just about to turn 40. And perhaps I’ll apply to do my creative writing course back at the same city uni. Perhaps, I could finish it this time. Do the degree, finally. If for no other reason, just because I can.