48 hours and I'll be home for break! God, I can't wait. Two weeks of beautiful nothing...except CWFM applications, trying to find an internship for both this summer and next year, thinking about housing...
Eh. I think we all know that I am going to blow all of this off until the last minute and watch Lost instead. "It is a truth, universally acknowledged..."
Fuck yeah, I just Pride and Prejudice-d you. SUCK IT. Or as they say in the TV-dubbed version of "The Breakfast Club," EAT MY SOCKS.
I am sitting here in Norris, wishing that the artificial fire was turned on and trying to work out an idea for a spec-script for How I Met Your Mother. God, how wannabe professional am I? If the Starbucks here were actually open right now, I'd totally be sippin' on some java (I just said that. Oh man.) But it's not a perfect world.
I can't shake the feeling, though, that no matter what fancy title they give this kind of writing, it's all just fan-fiction. Because it totally is. I'm writing about characters that I didn't create, spinning stories that feed off of relationships that I didn't dream up. It's fan-fiction. Industry-condoned fanfiction. Who'da thunk?
My mom says that I should consider a part-time career as a phlebotomist. Now before the choruses of "what the fuck?" start, I would like to head this off at the pass. I think I could be a bright and shining star in the phlebotomy field. I could draw blood like nobody's business. People wouldn't even know what hit them...or their veins.
(It would be me. With a syringe.)
I just love that this is how my mother's mind works. Concern for me and my impoverished future: totally legit. Suggestion that I find some sort of day job: yeah, sure. Idea that that day job should be in the rapidly-plateauing field of phlebotomy...
Okay, let's hear those "what the fuck?"s now.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment