That Other Me
Sometimes I let myself imagine the other me. The one that didn't have Depression. The one that became a radical activist. She lives in a commune sort of situation, perhaps works for a messenger service or some other job with flexible hours and not much of dress code. She lives in a big city one one of the coasts and she's very politically active. She's part of several protests a month, always out there on the front line. She's been arrested multiple times as well for her involvement in non-violent protests at various places. She's artistic and passionate and unafraid of throwing herself into things with her whole being. In her younger years she was even more radical though, to the point of throwing menstrual blood on anti-choice zealots outside of abortion clinics. That one I really regret not getting to do. Really a lot.
That's one of the other selves I might have been, there are a few more.
I wanted to be an astronaut, like really seriously. I love science and computers and sometimes even math. I wanted to go to MIT and do robotics or cosmology or both.
Linguistics is an unending source of joy for me, I would have loved being a translator. I've got a few partially done constructed languages that come from that part of me.
Before art class murdered the impulses out of me, I had some artistic leanings. I loved drawing, I'd do it during class and it would help me focus. I loved designing things too. Architecture would have been fun. Later in life I discovered the joy of ceramics. I would kill for my own kiln and a place to do ceramics. I sometimes imagine working on clay to help me wind down and fall asleep.
All those other mes that never were and never will be. Mostly I'm reconciled to it, but sometimes, I miss what might have been.
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That's one of the other selves I might have been, there are a few more.
I wanted to be an astronaut, like really seriously. I love science and computers and sometimes even math. I wanted to go to MIT and do robotics or cosmology or both.
Linguistics is an unending source of joy for me, I would have loved being a translator. I've got a few partially done constructed languages that come from that part of me.
Before art class murdered the impulses out of me, I had some artistic leanings. I loved drawing, I'd do it during class and it would help me focus. I loved designing things too. Architecture would have been fun. Later in life I discovered the joy of ceramics. I would kill for my own kiln and a place to do ceramics. I sometimes imagine working on clay to help me wind down and fall asleep.
All those other mes that never were and never will be. Mostly I'm reconciled to it, but sometimes, I miss what might have been.
Posted from DreamWidth.
comments there.
You can comment there with OpenID or a DWth account.