When I Grow Up

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I'm not asking because I'm curious. I'm asking because I'm fishing for ideas. Because I'm stumped.

Growing up I wanted to be (in no particular order) a doctor, a writer, a teacher, a veterinarian, a circus performer, a stewardess, a magician, an artist, a geologist, an astronomer, an actress and a professional baseball player.

It seems that what you want to do and what you can do don't always align how you'd like them to.

And money, oh, money, what an evil whore.

I don't like talking about the subject actually. Going to school for Art and English, I always got the, "So you want to be a teacher?" talk. No, actually. I don't want to be a teacher. "Well, then it seems that you picked the wrong majors."

So all that's trained me to do is say, "A teacher? I don't know, maybe. We'll see. I'm not really sure what I want to do."

I'm not going to tell you what my dreams and aspirations are. They are none of your business. And I don't want to waste my breath defending them.

Because why do other people want to know? Are they fishing for ideas too?

I'm doing a data entry job now. Not glamorous, not exciting, not what I want. But I wake up every morning, I get dressed and I go to work. It's not a bad job, it's just not a good one.

I'm not complaining.

Screw it. I am complaining.

But I know that I'm the only one who can change things for myself. Because I can't go on complaining about how I can't make a decision about my life.

My life.

I don't want to grow up.