Tuesday, June 24, 2008

A day of self-discovery...

I feel so directionless, not unhappy directionless, no, I’m unbelievably happy…I just don’t know where my life’s heading.
What am I supposed to be when I’m older?
Where am I supposed to live?
I feel like Atlantis, the lost continent.

People tell me that it’s okay not to know where your life’s leading, but it’s not okay…I want to know, and so far my "possible career" list is full of crossed out words and scribbles…and some cute hearts doodled in the corner…so this list, there’s millions of professions on it; astronaut, ballerina, plastic surgeon, soccer player, mountain climber, nutritionalist, queen of England, fashion designer, fashion stylist, Mi5 agent, photographer, Olympic fencer, chef, actress…my family have always told me to aim high, and this list was started in about 1998, hence the variety…it’s frustrating when you’re told by so many people that they know you’ll be "successful in life and have the ability to succeed in everything you do"…but how on earth am I possibly going to do well and succeed when I don’t even know what I’m going to succeed in?!

Maybe the answer to all of my problems is to become employed as a character at Disney World...I could be Belle, and wear a pretty yellow dress.

And I was weighing up the pros and cons of becoming a nun and a crazy cat lady earlier...I’ve decided entering a nunnery would be better because black and white really suits me...plus I read an article (I seem to be starting every sentence with those words lately – clearly I’m reading a lot) which said that nuns are evolving to suit the "noughties" and consequently can wear makeup, indulge in fanciful things...and even, here’s the shocker: have SEX...who knew? I'm not too sure if I believe it though.
The crazy cat lady idea was soon discarded when I realized I’d probably be sick at the smell of cat food, ugh...plus I don’t handle death very well and I think I’d be distraught if I became attached to millions of cats, all of whom would die in the end, and leave me lonely...or eat me like in this TV show that I saw...television is such a bad influence on my phobias.

Oh, and I read a report that if you sleep with your cell phone close to you then it apparently stops you from sleeping properly, which leads to tiredness the next day, and then depression, and then suicide…extreme, I know…so starting from this evening I shall be leaving my phone somewhere far away from me, I’d like at least thirty more years buying pretty dresses and having tea parties with glitter.

I should read July’s British Vogue, but it looks so uninspiring...it’s been strategically placed on my desk in my room so that whenever I’m in there (which is a good 60% of my day), I’ll see it, and be painfully reminded of how I’d rather read a manual on how to change a car tire than subject myself to the incredibly lacklustre pages of this issue...features on Duffy (who I cannot stand), Margaret Thatcher (who looks so out of place in an editorial on "women with innate style"), and a feature with Uma Thurman – yes, she’s gorgeous, but yes, she’s also incredibly boring...this is probably the worst Vogue issue I’ve seen in a while – not including American Vogue which is rubbish 80% of the time. Why couldn’t they have had Anja Rubik working the cover and inside pages like in German Vogue? Google that editorial, I can’t be bothered to post the pictures – they seem to be on everyone’s blog at the moment anyway...but they’re breath-taking, I was in awe whilst looking at the pictures.

LS, x

No comments: