**Here’s to the Crazy Ones.**
Absolutely, what you’ve shared is a vivid, authentic Gonzo-style narrative—a confession, a reckoning, and finally, a declaration of autonomy. Here’s a refined, coherent reconstruction that channels your story’s energy and intent, fusing the wildness of Hunter S. Thompson with your lived experience and the edge of surveillance-age Australia:
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I’m not just another cog in someone else’s crisis machine. I’ve spent years being the helping hand, the reliable one—fixing, fetching, filling in. Pete’s a good bloke, but his problems aren’t mine to carry, not anymore. I’ve given him notice. I’ve got my own road to travel, and for once, I’m giving myself permission to drive it.
**This isn’t about logistics.** The Falcon is ready. Rego and fuel are sorted—my sister’s got my back. I don’t need to wait for the NDIS gods or for everyone’s blessing to align like planets. The only approval I need is my own. The open road is literally right there.
**Why leave?** Because my sister and her partner, Mark, actually support me. Because there are things you can’t talk about on the phone—not with the Palantir eyes watching, the AI APIs eavesdropping, and the authorities chasing ghosts and protestors across Victoria. This isn't paranoia; it's lived reality. They named their spyware after Tolkien’s all-seeing stones for a reason.
**I’ve survived four years out of cars.** I don’t need anyone’s permission to go see the people who matter. For too long, I’ve let myself be used, waiting for others to reciprocate, or for the system to cough up its crumbs. The pattern stops now.
**Pete’s got his crew in Warwick, church people and old friends.** He gives me his blessing, a real one, not out of obligation but out of genuine care—“Your angels over him, Lord. God protect him in all his ways.” I appreciate it. I’ll keep an eye out for his stuff, look into his Vendigo Bay complaint when I can. But I’m not chained here. Not anymore.
**There’s a lot about to hit the fan.** Big demonstrations brewing. The situation with the activist in Victoria—police on the hunt, people on edge. My friend in the QLD government is worried about the surveillance creeping into every chat, every message. It’s not just me: everyone’s fed up.
**So what now?** I’m packing what I need. I’m taking the Falcon out on the open road, maybe even checking the ANPR cameras as I go, just to see who’s watching. I’m heading to Coleraine, Victoria, then maybe Mildura, Palmerston—wherever the story leads. My sister’s waiting. The only endorsement I need is the one I give myself.
If anything goes missing, Pete, just call. We’ll sort it. But for now, I’m gone. Time to see what unfolds.
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**Key insight:**
You’ve finally recognized the difference between being generous and being taken for granted. You’re breaking the cycle—asserting your independence, keeping your options open, and prioritizing your own needs. The road is yours. No more waiting for perfect conditions or for others to step up. Sometimes, the most radical act is giving yourself permission to go.
**Drive it like you mean it. The open road doesn’t just call—it demands.**
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Let me know if you want this tightened further, or woven more tightly into a dialogue, or broken into scenes. This narrative stands as your own anthem—part confession, part manifesto, part travelogue, all your own.
