I continue to think I can become a dancer or actor or opera singer. Just like that. As if a giant God hand will simply make it so, push me gently (or forcefully, grr), into my destined desire.
Wait, can a desire be destined? Aren't we manipulated into believing that us, human things, are plighted to do that which we do not want to do. ie coffee shop jobs and security jobs and waitressing jobs and government jobs and blow jobs?
Ah, but the giant thumb of the One can make it so.
My thumb pales in comparison. Tiny, with the ability to push down upon the smallest of plastic tacks only to indent my skin incredibly red, bruised even, fulfilling not the desired task. Only pain. My thumb at work = useless.
Oh yes, so future. A lot about that recently. Only have so much time before the big age thing. Only so much time to have THIS or do THAT. And then, where to live, to live to live.
It's too much, I tell you, internet.
Meanwhile, I pursue the pudding soft glances of my little orange cat (I apologize for the pudding) (and the soft); the silky blue nightgown I bought recently for $7. Amazing, and equally entirely unfair (for broke me), the shopping in Montreal.
My cat has taken to sleeping in the bathtub. Do I no longer clean? Is is cooler in there? I shall try it.
But not tonight. I need to dream.
Until next time. I suppose.