Things I have wanted to be: poet writer, prose fiction teacher, English professor, English, Religion FBI Special Agent, but that's damn hard Marine, but that's fucking impossible for me magical schoolgirl, as did you stuntdriver singer/songwriter stuntperson, general stuntperson, explosions explosions expert bomb-maker, terroristic bomb-squad, awesome writer, memoir "fireperson" police officer detective astronaut astronomer actress director producer writer, television/movies hermit/hobo farmer agricultural scientist meteorologist journalist cat breeder dog breeder veterinarian superhero writer, comics colorist, comics illustrator massage therapist physical therapist doctor, but not for very long and myself.
Each desire had a different sway, with different time periods. There are many, many, many more, but I can't recall them all, nor do I care to. See, this is part of why I'm so flaky. I have to consider EVERY OPTION before I make a decision. No matter how inconsequential. Each must be accompanied by at least three scenarios, detailing best, middle, and worst ends. I say "at least" because I usually add more.
Because I like driving myself insane. I like lying awake at night, thinking about today and tomorrow and five years ago. I like not knowing if it is the drug or the disease or me.
Apparently.
Ah, spring nights; how sweet are the sounds of them! How genteel the moods they inspire, how settling to the soul! I feel as though all fever-dreams have past; as though I am myself again, wholly, truly, wonderfully.
I could sleep away my life and never miss it, or dream through words another has penned. Are these my thoughts, or just echoes of another's? You see, every outlook, every thought — I have to try it out. Movies and books and music affect me in ways that, frankly, frighten me. If it's easy to dominate me, why do I feel powerful when I Iron-Man walk? All power's in the dropping of the hips, boys, and mind that you remember that.
I am convinced that: - Within five years, I'm going to become mute or deaf; - Within ten, I'll either have or know someone who has tuberculosis, and feel guilty instead of giddy; - Fifteen, at least two of my friends will be dead of preventable causes; - At the end of twenty years, I still won't have any children.
I am not a hypochondriac, Mom, I'm clairvoyant. There's a difference.
Also, my computer is broken, and my time on this one is limited. Sorry. :/
"What?" "He's been taken by the Trolls." "Don't they eat people?" "Not all of them. You're thinking of Hag-Trolls." "Who eat children." "Only bad children." I'm having fun with Chendair—James's Nameless Grandfather (we should fix that).
