like in the seinfeld when
I missed my bus again. I only work one day a week at Value Village, yet somehow I manage to be late all the time. Public transportation is getting old.
I got asked to write feature articles for some Alberta youth magazine. It turns out it's a magazine distributed by 'Alberta Mental Health For Teens' which is ironic because I think it's safe to say I'm far from sane. I don't know whether I'm going to write the article, beause a) it says that they pay on the website, but there was no mention on the phone (well it's not like I'm going to quit my dayjob, but you know) and b) I'm not sure I would want to degrade myself to writing in a mental health magazine. I mean, I know everyone's got to start somewhere, but I think I'd be lying if I didn't allude to my insanity. Also, I'm not sure the first topic is really my area of specialty: choices.
I am probably the most indecisive person around. Not only am I indecisive, when I do end up deciding, it's usually the wrong choice. I am the poster child for wrong choices. I epitomize mistakes made by stupid young girls, and now I have to write about making the right choice and [ideally] steer that mis-guided youth, who is seeking some direction, who is in desperate need of a role model, that picks up a magazine promoting SANITY [aka conformity] in hopes that somewhere in the myriad of 60% recycled paper, there will be ONE article, ONE peice that will forever change their lives and magically prvent them from ever making a wrong choice in their life again, producing the purest, most immaculate human being - some may even say Stepford wife material - which (in reality) is just a naive person who has never lived.
Ahh. Looking back on my run-on sentence, I realize that I seemed to have gone off on some hyperbole-crazy tangent there, My example may have been a little extreme, but I firmly stand by my point. Don't be stupid, but don't be afraid to make the wrong choice and fuck up every now and again. I have never learnt a lesson (that I remembered) from taking the easy road. Making mistakes teaches you what NOT to do, and sometimes, it's easier to remember to not stick your hand on the stove only AFTER you've been burnt.
Fuck. I can't write this article. Look at me, I'm one wrong choice after another, and I haven't learnt a thing, and they want me to teach how to make good choices, ironically enough. Well, maybe I have learnt a thing or two, but I never hear about the good things I do, all the smart moves I make; I'm constantly reminded of all the wrong choices I made and continue to make.
On the phone, the editor said I should write about choices and how they're affected by pressure - pressure to smoke, pressure to drink, pressure to have sex, etc. How the HELL am I goign to do this?? I've given into all those 'pressures'. Basically: I'm a doormat. If only the magazine knew they wanted a doormat to write about standing up for yourself - har har.
I also asked her if my poetry was going to be in the issue. Originally, I had submitted a few poems and a sample of my writing (in hopes that I could soon gloat about being a published poet). Her response? "Oh, uh sure yeah whatever we can publish you poem, but um... we need you to do THIS article." I guess I should get used to writing for someone else, instead of just myself.
This bus smells like sushi. Not the good kind of sushi, but the warm, imitation crab, $1.99 sushi. I'm getting antsy because I know I'm going to be late. Periodically I flip open my phone to see how late I'm going to be and gage how big of an excuse I have to fabricate.
Yesterday, I came to find mutiple bottles of booze on my counter. I couldn't decide if it was because my dad was thirsty, or something was goign on. Turns out the next night (as in tonight) we're having a party.
Let's see how much tequilla my dad tries to make me drink tonight.
I got asked to write feature articles for some Alberta youth magazine. It turns out it's a magazine distributed by 'Alberta Mental Health For Teens' which is ironic because I think it's safe to say I'm far from sane. I don't know whether I'm going to write the article, beause a) it says that they pay on the website, but there was no mention on the phone (well it's not like I'm going to quit my dayjob, but you know) and b) I'm not sure I would want to degrade myself to writing in a mental health magazine. I mean, I know everyone's got to start somewhere, but I think I'd be lying if I didn't allude to my insanity. Also, I'm not sure the first topic is really my area of specialty: choices.
I am probably the most indecisive person around. Not only am I indecisive, when I do end up deciding, it's usually the wrong choice. I am the poster child for wrong choices. I epitomize mistakes made by stupid young girls, and now I have to write about making the right choice and [ideally] steer that mis-guided youth, who is seeking some direction, who is in desperate need of a role model, that picks up a magazine promoting SANITY [aka conformity] in hopes that somewhere in the myriad of 60% recycled paper, there will be ONE article, ONE peice that will forever change their lives and magically prvent them from ever making a wrong choice in their life again, producing the purest, most immaculate human being - some may even say Stepford wife material - which (in reality) is just a naive person who has never lived.
Ahh. Looking back on my run-on sentence, I realize that I seemed to have gone off on some hyperbole-crazy tangent there, My example may have been a little extreme, but I firmly stand by my point. Don't be stupid, but don't be afraid to make the wrong choice and fuck up every now and again. I have never learnt a lesson (that I remembered) from taking the easy road. Making mistakes teaches you what NOT to do, and sometimes, it's easier to remember to not stick your hand on the stove only AFTER you've been burnt.
Fuck. I can't write this article. Look at me, I'm one wrong choice after another, and I haven't learnt a thing, and they want me to teach how to make good choices, ironically enough. Well, maybe I have learnt a thing or two, but I never hear about the good things I do, all the smart moves I make; I'm constantly reminded of all the wrong choices I made and continue to make.
On the phone, the editor said I should write about choices and how they're affected by pressure - pressure to smoke, pressure to drink, pressure to have sex, etc. How the HELL am I goign to do this?? I've given into all those 'pressures'. Basically: I'm a doormat. If only the magazine knew they wanted a doormat to write about standing up for yourself - har har.
I also asked her if my poetry was going to be in the issue. Originally, I had submitted a few poems and a sample of my writing (in hopes that I could soon gloat about being a published poet). Her response? "Oh, uh sure yeah whatever we can publish you poem, but um... we need you to do THIS article." I guess I should get used to writing for someone else, instead of just myself.
This bus smells like sushi. Not the good kind of sushi, but the warm, imitation crab, $1.99 sushi. I'm getting antsy because I know I'm going to be late. Periodically I flip open my phone to see how late I'm going to be and gage how big of an excuse I have to fabricate.
Yesterday, I came to find mutiple bottles of booze on my counter. I couldn't decide if it was because my dad was thirsty, or something was goign on. Turns out the next night (as in tonight) we're having a party.
Let's see how much tequilla my dad tries to make me drink tonight.