2007-07-05
the best-laid plans
Ben was accepted into the Madison business school which a great accomplishment and I'm happy for him and all that other Oprah Winfrey stuff, but it kind of casts a spotlight on the fact that my future remains, oh, let's go ahead and say "directionless."
Most of the time, I don't worry about the future because I don't really even believe in the future- I err more on the side of general destruction via nuclear war or bird flu by the year 2020. But on those rare days when the sun is shining and the (flu free) birds are singing and I don't feel I'm lying prostrate at the feet of some horrible fate, a troubling thought beings to surface: "Shit. I might actually have to do something with my life."
It's troubling not so much because I'm afraid I won't be able to find a job or make a living or whatever. Besides being a generally capable individual, I tell lies and backstab the competition with athletic ease. I'm not afraid to sell out, it's more that I'm afraid I won't find something worth selling out for. Readers, I want more than a exorbitant paycheck - in fact, I don't really even need the paycheck at all. But I've been thinking a lot lately about what I'm going to put into my best-selling autobiography fifty years from now, and to that end I do insist on having some good stories.
Problematically, it seems like I'm short on options. I'm too old to be kidnapped and forced into service as a child soldier, so forget that. I guess I could just be regular-kidnapped, but Elizabeth Smart already did the whole white-girl-captured-and-held-hostage thing so it's kind of a tired story line. I'm too thin to write about my triumphant struggle with a 600-pound weight loss and too fat to chronicle my lifelong battle with anorexia. I guess I could launch a career as a girl-pop singer and then whine for a few hundred pages about how hard life is, but I'd almost prefer the aforementioned bird flu apocalypse scenario. I'm pretty sure I could handle climbing half of Mt. Everest and then dying tragically/dramatically in some sort of accident (avalanche maybe?) but then I'd be dead before I got a chance to start writing. Unless I wrote from beyond the grave, which would be cool but also kind of like stealing the Notorious B.I.G.'s idea.
Well. If you come up with any bril ideas, let me know. It really would be in your best interest do a little brainstorming, since you're the poor suckers who have to read about my lame life.
zebrasaur at 3:10 p.m.
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