it's called a working Holiday visa.

The other day I was sick at the end of work. Maybe it was a side effect of the caffeine pill I had taken to get me through this second job on top of the free espresso's, lattes, and long blacks we gratuitously make for ourselves out of sheer boredom. Maybe it was the complimentary paella "dinner" we were given by the kitchen staff at 9:30 at night - way too late to be eating such hearty carbs, or so they say. Whatever it was, I felt nauceous, hot, and faint and alleviated my upset stomach by throwing up. It didn't help. Not long after as we were finishing up the polishing of glassware and cutlery behind the bar, my manager made fun of me for leaning against the bar.
"You can't possibly be tired after such a quiet night as tonight," he teased.
 I meakly responded, "No, I don't feel very well."
I gratefully got my shift covered for the next day so I could have a bit of a lie in, but still had my other job to go to at night. My walk home was filled with huffing and puffing and aches and I wasn't sure I would survive the night.  Dramatic, as you do. The next day, I didn't even get the sleep in I wanted as my body was so used to waking up to go to two jobs. I did feel better, but thought I should tell my other job that I had been sick just in case they think I'm being sluggish on the job and just out of respect for the hospitality industry for being surrounded by food and serving it to others.
"No worries at all Shauna, stay home, feel better tonight I'll cover your shift. You know what? I'll cover lunch tomorrow too. And dinner. And Saturday yeah no problem. Your double on Sunday - sorted. Call me on Monday." I didn't even ask for it off. But I never felt better! I felt utterly disposable, but I was too excited to actually have a long weekend off, I almost choked as I laughed with giddiness. Ted had tried to convince me to go to Brisbane before he started his new job, promising to pay for my ticket, and as much as I wanted to, I didn't dare ask for a weekend off from work last minute, especially with two double shifts. Now, they had just handed it to me! I could have left that very evening, but booked a flight for 6am the following morning. I'm surprised I even slept that night - it was more of a nap if anything.

Brisbane was sunny and warm. What's not to like? I thrived in the confidence I felt in the familiarity of the city, having only been there less than 2 months before, and only for a few days. Despite the Vitamin D that I needed to cure my weekend "sickness" I think I needed a little holiday from my working holiday. It had become too much working and not enough fun. I was living day to day, going through the motions, but almost forgetting why I was there. Days ticking by as the end date to my visa crept slowly onward. I was working to save money, to save money to leave, and in that sense, I always had one foot out the door. I'm not sure how other travelers do it: if they have a plan they stick to, or go along with whatever opportunity arises, or if they just previously saved enough money to travel where and when they want.
So, the weekend trip to Brisbane relighted the dim flame that was slowly losing its bright spark in the dark. It reminded me of the excitement of new places, how comforting and fun it is to be around friends. It pointed out that I can pack a bag and leave within 24 hours notice. It uttered: this is your year abroad, do what you want, what you need to do.

 And so, who knows what's next. It's been good Melbourne. I like you a lot. But ciao ciao bene.