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Optional Extras
May. 18th, 2003 08:50 pm*deepbreath*
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!
*deepbreath*
Better. Thank you for holding.
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nightskywarlock greeted me this evening with "I am Not Seal Kibble". No, he's right; he's not. It's sea lions that live on that pier in SF. ^_^ Actually, slight redemption on his part. When Wakaranai made what I'd have to call one of the biggest me-related blunders since the infamous "I don't trust you in the house by yourself" thing, he was sympathetic. Now, would that he could have been so about my whining about the Mighty Fucks of Anaheim.
In other news, I'm not sure what blows more -- the New Labour insistence on uni fees or my attitudes towards academia when I was a kid. When I was ten, I showed an interest in sea animals and my mother said, "Marine biology". I went along with that until about my third year doing chemistry, when I realised it probably wasn't going to be much fun for me and then further realised that it might well not be what I wanted to do with myself -- it was just what I'd been told. So I confronted my mother with this "I don't want to be a marine biologist" thing and when she asked me what I wanted to be, I told her I wanted to be a writer. Mum said, "Media". So, since I didn't know what I wanted to do, I went for it. It was as close to what I wanted to do as I could get, I thought.
Not even close. The school I wound up in sucked, and part of that was my own fault. Either way, I wasn't getting the help I needed, I didn't want to be there, and I just flaked out. And now here I am, six years on, and the most joy I get out of my work is the few days when I'm typing direct reports for the one doctor who will teach me something. I liked first aid. I like reading medical dictionaries. It interests me. Maybe Jay's right -- not to mention various of my friends. Maybe I could go to med school. That's if I had the money. I don't fancy spending from now until retirement in debt, so loans are out. And even if Mum would fund me (I've hinted about it a time or two and the responses were not promising, so I figure that's a no), I wouldn't ask. She already did that for a year. I threw it away. Mea culpa.
No, I'm not wallowing in self-pity. I'm okay with what I do, most of the time. I just don't like seeing potential wasted. Probably why I still hang with Wakaranai. And when it's me doing the wasting, and I can't see a way around that waste, it's a little depressing. But it's not self-pity. Unless you count me feeling slight pity for the younger me who had no clue what she wanted and so let herself be nudged and ordered and pigeonholed. I'm not that girl anymore. I know what I want. Depressing as it may be to realise that some of it's beyond my reach, there's a certain closure in the knowing, in the finding out for myself.
Anyway, that's enough of that. More (over)work tomorrow, so I'd better take myself off home to bed. And probably reheat some of the chili for dinner. Oh, incidentally, lunch went well, Jill liked my chili and brought chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and there's still some in the freezer and we watched DVDs and had a great time.
And since we're now talking about adequate pain-feeling times and the Latino fuck next to me is singing, I will take my leave.
Thess
FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU!
*deepbreath*
Better. Thank you for holding.
nightskywarlock greeted me this evening with "I am Not Seal Kibble". No, he's right; he's not. It's sea lions that live on that pier in SF. ^_^ Actually, slight redemption on his part. When Wakaranai made what I'd have to call one of the biggest me-related blunders since the infamous "I don't trust you in the house by yourself" thing, he was sympathetic. Now, would that he could have been so about my whining about the Mighty Fucks of Anaheim.In other news, I'm not sure what blows more -- the New Labour insistence on uni fees or my attitudes towards academia when I was a kid. When I was ten, I showed an interest in sea animals and my mother said, "Marine biology". I went along with that until about my third year doing chemistry, when I realised it probably wasn't going to be much fun for me and then further realised that it might well not be what I wanted to do with myself -- it was just what I'd been told. So I confronted my mother with this "I don't want to be a marine biologist" thing and when she asked me what I wanted to be, I told her I wanted to be a writer. Mum said, "Media". So, since I didn't know what I wanted to do, I went for it. It was as close to what I wanted to do as I could get, I thought.
Not even close. The school I wound up in sucked, and part of that was my own fault. Either way, I wasn't getting the help I needed, I didn't want to be there, and I just flaked out. And now here I am, six years on, and the most joy I get out of my work is the few days when I'm typing direct reports for the one doctor who will teach me something. I liked first aid. I like reading medical dictionaries. It interests me. Maybe Jay's right -- not to mention various of my friends. Maybe I could go to med school. That's if I had the money. I don't fancy spending from now until retirement in debt, so loans are out. And even if Mum would fund me (I've hinted about it a time or two and the responses were not promising, so I figure that's a no), I wouldn't ask. She already did that for a year. I threw it away. Mea culpa.
No, I'm not wallowing in self-pity. I'm okay with what I do, most of the time. I just don't like seeing potential wasted. Probably why I still hang with Wakaranai. And when it's me doing the wasting, and I can't see a way around that waste, it's a little depressing. But it's not self-pity. Unless you count me feeling slight pity for the younger me who had no clue what she wanted and so let herself be nudged and ordered and pigeonholed. I'm not that girl anymore. I know what I want. Depressing as it may be to realise that some of it's beyond my reach, there's a certain closure in the knowing, in the finding out for myself.
Anyway, that's enough of that. More (over)work tomorrow, so I'd better take myself off home to bed. And probably reheat some of the chili for dinner. Oh, incidentally, lunch went well, Jill liked my chili and brought chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream and there's still some in the freezer and we watched DVDs and had a great time.
And since we're now talking about adequate pain-feeling times and the Latino fuck next to me is singing, I will take my leave.
Thess
