Just to let all my relatives know I have no intentions on becoming a prostitute.
It is simply a metaphor.
🙂
So I got a blackberry, and you know what happens when you give a human something that vibrates,flashes pretty colours when you get a message, something well…
awesome, shiny, and new. You become a savage cell-phone user…
You get into the habit of procrastination, oh trust me I was pretty good at procrastinating before I got this beast of a phone. But I can’t blame this phone for me being lazy enough to screw over the blogging world.
So I decided to blame it on being a grade 12 student.
This whole grade 12 thing?
Tis a wee bit nerve-racking, all this pressure to become something,
all this pressure to not end up sleeping outside Tim Horton’s in a cardboard box having entertaining conversations with a tomcat who could less if you were dead or alive.
My older brother got it easy! Ever since he was what like a preteen he knew what his career would be.
Me? I am not so lucky, my mind was like a prostitute to careers, it would change its fancy everyday. Hmm maybe prostitute isn’t the right word. Somehow I sense grandma would not like that.
Maybe sleaze is better since I didn’t make a profit for changing my mind so many friggin’ times??
Hah.
It seemed everyday something new and exciting interested me, and I set my sights on being that certain amazing person when I grow up.
“I”M GOING TO BE AN ARTIST!, AN ACROBAT!, PROFESSIONAL SOCCER PLAYER!, TEACHER! BIOLOGIST! JOURNALIST! PALIENTOLOGIST! CORONER! NEUROLIGIST! PSYCHOLOGIST! ARCHIOLOGIST! PHOTOGRAPHER! EDITOR! ILLUSTRATOR! SINGER! DANCER! CHOREOGRAPHER! AND THE LIST GOES ON!
** I am just that brilliant that I can’t go find a dictionary and spell some of these words correctly, and the spell check can’t spell them either… ^
maybe I was one of those kids whose curiosity was on overdrive. Not like A.D.H.D though mind you…
It seemed spastic, my mind always is spastic, have you read my writing ?
It’s like a Pomeranian chasing a laser pointer,
on the couch,
attacking the curtains,
smashing into a wall,
jumping repeatedly on the spot,
drool flying everywhere,
I think you get it.
Anyways, do you understand what I just said?
Its okay if you don’t just smile and nod that’s what people usually do, well that’s what I do when I’m stuck in a situation where I have no clue what the hell is being said, (like in math class).
So I’m sure everybody realises that normal people need money to prosper, especially when your last name isn’t “Bieber” or “Sheen” or “Woods” they just need to show up, play a sport and shave on TV,say something or sleep with someone, sing a song that makes little girls wail asking their parents “why can’t I have that JB cutout cardboard that is life-size in the shoppers drug mart???”
Like I said, I need a job that can support my Pomeranian of a mind and well, I think being a Pomeranian wouldn’t make any money.
I have always had a knack for drawing and writing, making people laugh, and helping people when they are stuck in a tiffy.
I invented the word “tiffy” to describe that moment when you find yourself standing under a large industrial fan while someone is throwing shit at it. Maybe I didn’t invent the word tiffy but I’m sure that my definition of tiffy was never thought of before.Ive said tiffy to many times…
And now ladies and gentlemen we move on to the conclusion: precisely a more thought-provoking, delicate matter…
I’ve read in magazines that sometimes if you ask your friends what they could see you doing as a career it can be a good tip in helping you decide what you will be doing after the sweet/nasty life of highschool. More nasty than sweet to be honest, more like sitting in a hot tub of acid with frustrating passive aggressive hamsters. Anyways. I’ve got ten months to decides what my next step will be after the exams, after that hat with the annoying tassel, after I get prettied up to spend five hours in a prom dress, after I move onto the next step of my life. I will become an adult version of me.
Why do I find that mildly disturbing?
I’d jump from one scenario to the next: from highschool kid to “______”.
*okay not all the hamsters attending highschool with me are passive aggressive, nor are they hamsters…
How do you know what you want to do? Does it fall from the sky and smack you in the head? Do you have to go through a near death experience to know what you want to do? Or can you just wake up one day, and swing your feet outta your bed, sit up, yawn, and say ” I know what to do with my life now”
Well, if it was that easy, maybe there wouldn’t be anybody having deep conversations with an aloof cat beside the dumpster.
Hopefully the adult version of me will look back on this while I am sitting in a comfortably furnished loft, (the kind you see in CSI… You know the ones where they find the dead model in the bathtub, only mine would not have a dead model in the bath tub, only a rubber ducky…) then I would laugh at how pathetically stressed I was over something that somehow figured itself out, then go to the nearby Timmy’s and order two lemon and honey teas, tea bag left in, and nod kindly to the scruffy man and his cat sitting outside the door, sit beside him and indulge in conversations only cats could think of.
Ciao
xx
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sallyann16 