2007-07-29
self doubt! grim realities!
In case there is too much certainty or confidence in your life right now, thank yourself for visiting my diary for a large and satisfying dose of self-doubt and grim realities! I've been trying to tweak my course schedule for the fall and just about having a stroke because the necessity of declaring a major is looming so near on the horizon. Oh. Help?
I thought long and hard and long and long about majoring in art. This wasn't pleasing to everyone. I will always cherish the time my mother encouraged me with the words, "You'll never be rich." But I won't ever remind her of it unless I turn completely evil, because I still do love her. (And to balance things out, she once gave me a note that said
"you are a wonderful daughter" with a little smiley face, which I kept for years.)
But she did have a very valid point because she has known me for nineteen years and so has caught on to my habit of spending money "exorbitantly" and saving money "not at all." I think she has a very vivid (and probably accurate) vision of my future as some sort of female Henry Chinaski. Except for unlike Henry Chinaski, we both know that I will not be content to live in shithole apartments all my life and I will certainly not resign myself to existence devoid of Manolo Blahnik. So she says, and I concur, an occasional paycheck will be necessary.
So I kind of gave up a bit, and the hopes of doing artistic stuff got relegated to weekends and spare time. But I'm the highly delusional type so I kept thinking I would still try to make my living in an artistic fashion. A summer of (f)unemployment has meant that most of the day is spent painting, which has only confirmed how 'not for me' all of that other stuff like "spreadsheets" and "office attire" was. And I realize that if I continue down the path that everyone seems to recommend that I jump on, I'll probably end up jumping off a building in ten years.
BUT please do bear in mind that I am so very incredibly shallow, and so very incredibly determined to bathe in silver dollars every evening of my post-collegiate life. Feel free at this point to make your "sell out / failed artist / bitter loser" comments. I doubt they'll bother me any more than the ones I've already made to myself.
Anyway. Ever the determined optimist, I'm sure I'll devise some genius plan that will render all of this worrying unnecessary. The flower of hope has a tendency to pop up no matter how many times you flamethrower it with reality. It's more like a weed in that respect.
With ten beached whales worth of love,
Rori
zebrasaur at 5:46 p.m.
0 comments so far