good morning.

Today’s choices are tomorrow’s destinations. Choose wisely

Every morning I look at that poster in an attempt to get motivated enough to leave my bed, after all it shows a successful guy lying in a hammock. But what that man doesn’t understand is just how comfortable my bed is, and exactly how tempting a warm cocoon of blankets can be. So now I have to make my first choice of the day, whether or not to go to my 9am lecture. If I go into uni I can get good grades, become wildly successful, seduce hundreds of women with my infinite wealth, and ultimately collapse into a post orgy mini-coma in the hammock on my privately owned island. Or I can hit the snooze button and follow my dreams in a much more pragmatic way. After all, the guy in the hammock appears to be sleeping, so in a lot of ways we’re on the same page. I guess that means I’m skipping the lecture. But then again the professor takes attendance and I’ve already missed two classes. I am allowed three skips though, so it wouldn’t be the end of the world if I slept through this one. Plus at this rate I might miss my train, and I certainly don’t want to walk into class late enough that everyone stares. Two hundred sets of eyes glaring at me as I shimmy through the tiny gap between knees and chairs, occasionally forcing the awkward laptop removal and desk lift: absolutely not. Although, I did do the readings this week for the first time ever, and I’m sure as hell not letting that go to waste. That means I’m going to the lecture, and most likely securing my future as a hammock owner.


First I need to get dressed, luckily my pants and shirt are already in a lump by my bed. Even luckier, my belt is already inside my pants. Luckier still, I fell asleep wearing socks. People have always said that I’m lazy, disorganised and unable to finish what I start, but that couldn’t be further from the truth, it’s just how I express my creativity. That’s why I’m already half way through the storyboarding for a movie I’m writing. And have an incomplete watercolour painting hanging off a makeshift easel in the bathroom. And a semi-finished computer rebuild from scrap parts I found at a garage sale. So, maybe I can be a little all over the place, and don’t have the best follow-through, but I still see big things in my future; hammock on my own beach type of things. But first I’ll need to run to the train.


Thankfully the train is on time and I make it with a couple of seconds to spare. It was an athletic endeavour, albeit it slightly hampered by the borderline asthmatic seizure I experienced immediately after the doors closed. By the time I’m pulling into Melbourne Central station I have sweat seeping out of my pores and, strangely enough, only the one armpit. My body has mostly recovered by the time I get through the gates, and now I have my next decision. I only have enough money on my Myki to get me into Uni, so if I don’t top up now I’ll have to walk back to the station after class. Or I could fare evade, but from past experience I only get inspected when I don’t have a valid Myki. Yet I have friends who will go months without ever putting money on their cards and somehow never get caught. It doesn’t make much sense, but I really would be a lot happier if all of them got fines. It’s vindictive and not what a friend should say, but it is probably a perfectly human desire. Either way I need to top up my Myki now, and hopefully quick enough to make the tram so I can scrape into the lecture on time. But as I stand in line at the machine I see the bringer of doom in front of me, an old woman using a credit card. It’s going to be a miracle if I can get to the tram on time with the glacial pace of the MyKi machines, especially when they use cards. I hate watching her stare aimless at the screen as if it is communicating to her in her native language of Morse code. The lady looks stunned as she investigates the machine, searching for the mystical card port that is literally right in front of her. She looks around expectantly as if the MyKi butler is about to come and assist her through the process. Oh no, she’s pulling out her chequebook. There’s no way this is going to take any less than an hour, and I need to go, so I sprint for the tram and make it as the door shut.


After another embarrassing hyperventilating episode I take my seat. But not for long because I don’t have the stomach to stay seated when other people stand. I always feel their eyes judging me as I sit in my comfortable seat whilst they sway from side to side at the mercy of the tram. Although, there’s a chance they will be more understanding after the display of anaerobic weakness they just witnessed. I pull the MyKi out of my pocket but manage to catch myself just before I touch on. I’m still valid for another two hours from the train, but if I touch on I’ll get declined because I’m technically in the negative. I’m not sure if that would actually make my ticket invalid, but I don’t want to take the risk.


“Would you like a hand with that?” An older lady suggests as she goes to take the card from my hand and tap it to the machine. She’s only trying to be nice, and is assuming I just can’t reach it myself, but nonetheless I have to pull my card away from her hand.
“Sorry,” I spurt out to ease her look of insult. “It’s just bec- No you see the MyKi system, because I’m in negative. I’m valid though. I am, I swear. I touched on at the station. So I’m allowed on for two hours”
“I understand,” interjects the lady with a mix of confusion and offense. “Nobody needs help from an oldie like me”.
“No it’s not that,” I shout, “It’s just this stupid card system. Even though I’ve paid, and I’m allowed to be on the tram, and not one of the ‘evil fare evaders’ they talk about in all the ads, I’m still screwed because of an idiotic system”.
“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to …” Interjected the lady trying to stop my yelling but I’m already to invested in my rant.


“No No. Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. It’s the idiots who made the systems fault. And anybody who has anything to do with them. The ticket inspectors are the worst of all. Too stupid to even understand the purpose of why they are inspecting. They will just scan my card and see it is declined on the top up, and give me a fine. But if they had any intelligence they would understand how the system works, and that the purpose is to see if I have actually paid for my two hours, which I have! But no, they would be far too stupid-“


“MyKi please,” booms the upset male voice behind me. I immediately come to the conclusion that it can’t actually be ticket inspector. Obviously someone is playing a joke on me, I can’t be that unlucky. But as I turn around I realise I am in fact exactly that unlucky, and my rant deflates like a loosened balloon flailing uselessly around the room.


“Look, Im sorry I –“
“Myki please.”


I hand it over to the intimidating man of grey, who is backed by his equally large cronies covering the exits. A feel a look of disbelief spreads across my face as it dawns on me that I am about to receive a $219 fine entirely due to a foolish system. The tram is even more silent that usual as everyone waits for me, the rude man who yells in public spaces, to get my comeuppance.


“It says here that you’re at negative seventy-seven cents,” says the inspector as I let out an obvious sigh coupled with an eye roll. “But. Since it says you touched on at 8:38 this morning, you are valid all the way through to eleven a.m. You see, the system works on the traveller being within the valid time window, not the positive or negative balance. But then again, how would I know anything about the system that I enforce for a job.”


Everyone on the tram is dead silent, too nervous to be the first to laugh, but still using their eyes to put me through the most humiliating moment of my life. I take my Myki back from the rigid grip of the inspector and consider the possibility of making an apology. I am one hundred percent in the wrong, but I’m not sure commenting on it will make the situation any less awkward.
“Look, I’m-“
“Ticket please,” the inspector blurts out just in time to interrupt me as he moves onto the next person. The university stop is coming up, so I’m able to skip out of this terrible situation just in time. Half the tram comes off with me and I silently hope to God that none of them are in my class. I slip in through the back doors of my lecture just in time to see that the professor arriving.


“Hello everyone, slight bit of housekeeping to start with. It’s taking too long to go through attendance every class so I think from now on we’ll just scrap it.”


There is a collective cheer from the entire lecture hall, but instead I groan as I realise I could be in bed right now.


“I’ll find another way to make up the 15 percent throughout the semester.”


There is a second collective groan, this time louder than the first. Not from me though, I’m happy to do an additional assignment as long as it means I can skip morning lectures. The professor has a way of making anything boring, and with a subject like neuropsychology there isn’t much effort required. It’s an elective subject that I knew would be hard, but during an overly optimistic 3am online enrolment I decided it would be interesting. I thought it might help with me improve my brain skills and in turn help with my computer building, play writing, word jumbles and even the tech start up I have been thinking about.


“The brain is most effective when focusing on one task. By paying attention to one objective we draw the stimuli into our frontal lobe for processing. Therefore multitasking, despite what you may believe, is less effective than dedicating mental processing to one full time objective.”


The lecturer is recapping his previous lecture for those who missed last week, but somehow I feel it is aimed more at my own personal choices.



“For today’s lecture we are going to discuss how the brain makes choices.”


Well this is spooky.


“Subjects were given two options, left and right, and told to click at the instant they felt they have made their choice. Interestingly, the readings showed activity in the subconscious elements of the brain, areas outside of the frontal lobe, gearing up for the decisions up to three seconds before the subject clicked their mouse. Thus leading to the contention that the conscious mind, your conscious mind, is not responsible for the decisions you make. Thus giving you the illusion of free will, when in reality you are been dragged through your life with an inability to decide your own destiny.”


The room immediately starts typing away, but I’m just stuck thinking how incredibly depressing that speech was.


“But that’s somewhat depressing.”


Jesus, this guy might be psychic.



“I think a more optimistic interpretation is that these were low attention decisions that don’t require involving your frontal lobe, your conscious, thus your brain delegates the processing to your subconscious. Even the most basic creatures have it, and it determines when we should be afraid, when we should fight and if something is safe to eat; all without having bringing the process into our conscious brain. This is how creatures are able to survive without a frontal lobe, and can still experience a range of emotions and decision-making abilities without cognitive processing. This topic, and the remainder of the lecture, delves deep into the evolutionary purposes of the brain, however we will not cover much of the psychology, and as such this lecture is not examinable.”


I grab my laptop, still in the bag, and start to step over the last row of chairs while the lecturer is still fiddling with his computer. I’m not wasting my whole morning in a class when the material won’t even be on the exam.


“However, we will be having an in class exercise worth 5% at the end of the class. So you may want to sit down Steven.”


The entire class turns to look at me standing here like an idiot, up on my tiptoes straddling the back row of chairs. I notice a group of girls laughing hysterically and realize they were on this morning’s tram with me. In an attempt to deflect some of the embarrassment I give a sheepish shrug before sitting down again. The class resumes after a few more minutes of laughter, and all I can think is, how the hell does the lecturer know my name? There are two hundred of us in the class and I have never spoken to him, but I guess I have the next three hours to figure it out…


Now that the class is finished I don’t waste anytime getting to the door. I’m already running late if I want to make it to lunch with Katie and Clark. They always hate when I’m not on time, and I can’t stand another lecture. The problem is that I didn’t have time to top up my MyKi so if I take the tram I risk getting a fine.


So, do I take the tram or walk?