Ah, the Peace of Releasing One's Inner Bitch.
No more applying for jobs I know I'll hate just because my mother insists that these jobs are the ones I need to be pursuing. No more worrying about whether the position will be immensely lucrative. "The greatest reward life has to offer is to work hard at work worth doing." Right on, Ted. Frankly, if I write blogs about horror movies, I will make about as much as I do now (which is squat), BUT--I will be happy as a clam doing it, and Happy Mom=Good Mom.
Even if I write columns, be they newspaper or web columns, about everyday, mundane crap I will just be overjoyed to be writing, rather than getting paid next to nothing to be a pee-on for the healthcare industry.
So there's a recession? So fucking what? Does this mean we all have to lie down and just give up? So sorry if I want to find a job that I like--and can't stand to suffer through a job that makes me abjectly miserable just because it's expected of me to hold the damn thing down.
Everyone else I know has done SOME outstanding thing or another with their lives. I've done nothing. (With the exception of Zoey, but I'm not sure tacking her picture to my resume is going to resound overly well with employers, because moms are lame, you know... yeah, okay.) Anyway, I'm afraid of the spotlight. I'm afraid of scrutiny. While I appreciate praise, I fear it, too. I've always been ashamed of the things I enjoy, such as writing, books, anime/manga, comic books, horror films, and so on. I guess it was spending too many years under the scrutiny of my four parents (two biological and two not, obviously) and not a ONE of them understanding the real me--or accepting what I truly love in life. Hence... I never broadcasted these loves to the world. They were my dirty little secret, and that little piece of me that my father NEVER boasted about to his buddies at the gym. "My daughter's in school for *coughcoughcreativewritingcoughcough.*"
Well, I'm sorry I'm not sorry I'm not a jock, doctor, lawyer, educator, nurse, or nun. I'm a fucking writer. And guess what?
It's time the world got over it. Here is a message to said world. You think I'm weird or naive because I've chosen to pursue the written word as a career path? You can bite my left tit, whoever you are, you asshole. Writing is the only career path that will EVER satisfy me--otherwise, I'll just become another nurse's aide who will be prescribed ridiculous amounts of drugs to stay remotely levelheaded. No, thanks.
And here's a message to my family. I am not a fucking flake, thank you kindly. I just happen to think a lot. Does that make me less crispy than the other crackers in the box? Pardon me for becoming absorbed in thought. Last I checked, thinking indicated SOME level of intelligence. I wasn't aware the times had changed and now people who don't think are considered the Einsteins of the 21st century.
Time to change my sitch--I'm working on my resume with my stepdad, the resident resume expert, and it's going to jobs I might actually want. I'm sick of pretending to be everything I'm not, just because that's what everyone else thinks I am. People bitch about being tragically misunderstood. I've been in that territory all my life, and am only now, going on twenty-four years old, realizing it. And big news for my mom--when I can afford it, I am getting an MFA in English Composition and Rhetoric.
Oh, she will shit herself when she finds out. *chuckles* I can't wait. I'm finding that I love disappointing people and doing what I want to do. It feels DAMN good--no wonder people do it all the time...
You have a nice weekend. Focker out.