Journalism

I was going to be a journalist once. It was a strange time involving travelling on buses, carrying around a hipster man bag and forcing myself to read the right-wing propaganda of the Australian on a daily basis. In the end I decided it wasn't for me after being told by my tutor that my language was too 'flowery' and winding up in a depressive episode for over a month (not because of that comment mind you).

Apparently hiding away from the world in a dark room for weeks at a time is not conducive to achieving things. It's not that big of a revelation but those of you who have experienced depression will know just how paralysing it can be. The longer you stay down there, the harder it becomes to crawl back out. You have a hundred things you should have already done and as each day goes by another five get added to that list.

Before developing a healthy addiction to nicotine, I once did not go outside my house for over three weeks. I probably would not have left my suitably darkened room had I possessed a large bucket and a few packets of chips. It was then that an educator whom I have the greatest respect for practically dragged me out of bed, made me stand on the front porch and have a conversation with him. Sure, I went back to bed straight after but I got that little hit of vitamin d, my first human interaction in god knows how long and the knowledge that despite the crawl ahead of me being difficult, it wasn't impossible.

I like to pretend that I have learnt my lesson when it comes to the depression side of bipolar. I guarantee you though, when I inevitably go to that place again, snapping myself out of it will be just as difficult.

Sometimes I wish we had switches to control our mood. Imagine you wake up and decide you want to write a song. Easy. flick the switch to melancholy crack a bottle of whiskey and hey presto youve got a number one. Alternatively you could be going to a party and want that little extra spark to get through the night, no problem just try the social butterfly setting. If you decide you want to create a religion that involves everyone in the world worshipping you why not flick over to mania and do a bit of preaching.

But alas, I digress. On the topic of Journalism. I was down at the pub the other night and there was a copy of the Telegraph on the table where drinks are supposed to go. The article facing up had such a catchy headline that I just had to read it aloud. Old mate that I was with who honestly is a little bit special told me I just had to include it in my blog. Judge for yourselves but I think him and the article have being special in common.

Tatts more like it: Josh Dugan yesterday flashed off his chiselled frame - and a few new tattoos - as he trained with his NRL All Stars teammates in sticky conditions at Coogee Oval. 

 And while Dugan may have broken down with an ankle injury midway through last year, he is ready to hit the ground running and reclaim his Blues No.1 jumper.

"That's the plan, but you have to remain fit and be playing games to get picked in the rep sides," Dugan told The Daily Telegraph.

"My parents told me the other day that Ricky said in the paper if I can get back to playing good footy, I'm a very good chance of getting back in the NSW team."

 I was going to be a journalist once. It was a magical time involving travelling on ponies, hanging out with fairies and reading the wisdom that coats every page of the Australian. However I then read an article in the Telegraph almost as good as the one above. I gave up knowing that I would never in my lifetime produce a piece of journalism even close to it's quality and that it would be a waste of my time trying.

Tatts all for now,
Stay Awesome.