TO DIVE OR NOT TO DIVE.. THAT IS THE QUESTION

Today in Chile a man who'd lost his job and his house set himself on fire to protest housing prices.

I'm sorry.... what? Exactly who was he teaching a lesson to? And, if you've lost your job and your house, surely you'd be trying to hang on to what you've got left. Like, skin.

If he thought housing prices were too high, and had lost his job.. it'd make more sense to take out a good insurance police and then set the house on fire.

And also, what about future employment prospects now that he's got burn scarring? From now on, in job interviews he's going to have to explain how once he got really pissed off, doused himself in petrol, and lit a match.

And then jumped into a water fountain to put out the flames, so does that mean he was only half-pissed-off about the housing prices?

I was having a mild panic attack for most of the day, in the wake of a gruelling week. Optimism can be so tiring, sometimes you just want to throw a metal bin at the mirror and watch it shatter.

Having decided that the dictionary definition of 'freelancing' should actually be:
"the process of maintaining an exterior appearance of cheerfulness in the face of relentless knock-backs, while gradually eroding interior well-being to zero", I gave myself over to a little bout of despondency and went to buy a freshly-squeezed juice from the awful fruit shop woman.

As usual, she grimaced at the sight of me. I ditched my usual cheerful 'Hola, buenas tardes' in favour of a return grimace as she reluctantly moved towards the juicer.

"Can I please have a half-litre of orange and carrot?" (I have finally mastered the Spanish word for carrot - zanahoria is not easy, let me tell you that)

"We don't have carrot."

I look up at the shelves and shelves of carrots, "What about them?"

"We don't have clean carrots."

"Well what about cleaning some then?"

"We don't have water." She hates me. I mean, she really hates me. I have only ever been exceptionally polite to her, and it's not that she's not one of these twisted individuals who warms more to rude people, because my blunt carrot-cleaning suggestion hasn't softened her up one iota.

"Ok, well can I please have a half-litre of apple and pineapple?"

"We don't have pineapple."

I lift my eyes to the dozens of pineapples and then give up. "Ok, I'll have an apple and orange then." If she thinks I'm going to utter another 'please', she's got another think coming.

She smugly juices the fruit, bumps up the price 3 pesos for the pleasure of having apple, and puts the cup in a bag with a straw. Maybe she is one of these twisted individuals, she's never given me a straw before.

I sit on the roof in an upright foetal position, marvelling at how delicious the froth of apple and orange is. I am familiar with panic state, and I know it's a case of riding it out.

But I've got troubles dammit. I leave for Cuba in a week and after that, the room ceases to be mine. Denise will be back in it for an unspecified, but probably short time. So do I go through that whole process of finding another place in the meantime?

Re work: I've got doco ideas, but how am I going to make anyone at Radio National in Australia answer the phone? How am I going to fake a British accent to fit in with Radio National's apparent racial preferences?

I find myself imploring the heavens for something, just something to happen to make it all seem ok. I briefly consider emailing Gregory David Roberts, author of Shantaram, my favourite book in the whole wide world. He's in Mumbai and he once offered I could ride around on the back of his Enfield with him. I ponder my fixation with India for a while and retreat to my computer..

Sarang is online, he's in Mumbai too. He opens the conversation with "Hey, what are you doing in February? Do you want to spend a month diving for free, all your accommodation and food paid? I'm doing a project with the government to identify, dive and report on sites to develop a diving industry in India."

Exploring virgin dive sites. Um, yes?

Thing is, this option raises two lines of thought.

The first is "Things happen for a reason, you have to notice signs and coincidences and follow them.. paths will open up before you and the Universe will work in your favour."

Personally, I thought the Celestine Prophecy was the worst book ever written. Absolute bollocks. Then there's Paulo Coelo - I like his philosophy that things will work in your favour if you follow the signs, but do I believe it?

The second line of thought is that life wasn't meant to be easy and sometimes you've just got to grit your teeth and power on through.

I'm casting around for authors, but all I'm getting is Kermit the Frog. Was he 'life wasn't meant to be easy' or just 'It's not easy being green?'

I went to a cantina to mull it over with Luis. Cantinas are public bars that look a little bit like public toilets, all the walls are tiled and everything's quite minimalistic. Sound bounces around. Football matches play on tvs on the ceiling. We nursed a few Coronas and bellowed at each other over the din of mariachi singers and their guitars, who seemed to be occupying every corner of the place.

Luis says religion has instilled in us the idea (particularly in Mexico) that you have to suffer for everything: success, love, happiness. But why? Why are we convinced that the easy way can't possibly be the right way?

Then he turned around and said that once in your life you've got to put 'all your meat in the oven' for one thing you really want. Risk everything for your chosen goal.

Well, my meat's already in the oven. Or, to use a Chile reference: I'm already on fire. I resigned, moved out, jumped on a plane.. and here I am.

The question is, how much do I want this thing? Do I dive in the water fountain and put out the flames? Or do I cook for a while?

Hmmm, the flesh-burning analogy is questionable isn't it?