Ivy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ivybgreenflower) wrote2004-06-04 01:10 am
ivybgreenflower) wrote2004-06-04 01:10 am
Thinking
I've been thinking about possible career choices when I get old enough to have a career, and I realized I'm pretty limited in what I can do.
I can't think quickly under pressure, nor can I subtract in my head.
I can't walk very far (crooked feet... sigh) nor can I carry very much (I'm just weak, lol).
The US military wouldn't want me (flat feet). Nor would I want them, really.
I am deathly afraid of ovens, toaster ovens, hair dryers, curling irons, toasters, stovetops (not very, but sometimes), blenders that are not my own, electric mixers, microwaves, waffle irons, and vacuum cleaners. Ironically, I'm not afraid of fire or boiling water.
I can't do realty, mortgage brokering, loan officering, accounting, marketing, or anything else involving math.
I'd like to do flower aranging, but I have allergies.
I couldn't work in a department store that has a fragrance counter because of my allergies.
I can't work in Wal*Mart because I despise the stupid.
For the same reason, I can't be a social worker or a case worker.
I don't have the money to go to school to become anything worthwhile, meaning doctor or lawyer, neither of which I want to do anyway.
I'd be a hairdresser, but I don't want to touch people's heads if they haven't been washed. Besides, seeing hair being cut makes me physically ill.
Scratch singing off of any list, because I can't :)
Plus dancing.
Couldn't be a cop because I'm a coward. Couldn't be a judge because I'm lazy.
I go stir crazy sitting behind desks all day, and I loathe the telephone more than is normal for humans.
What can I do?
I've been thinking of becoming a writer. I could never be a novelist (though I'd love to be) but I could publish a collection of short stories. I could be a columnist. I could do advertising, maybe. I suppose that's it, but as you can plainly see based on my massive amounts of journalling and my passion for writing short stories, it's the one thing I do tirelessly, which is important to me since I get bored easily. I have fun creating characters, building their lives, then artistically killing them off because I'm morbid that way. One thing, though, that really gets me-- I don't write what I like to read. I don't like to read violence, over-descriptiveness, suicide, homicide, incontinuity, randomness, or overly romantic stories. But this is what I write... I'll never understand myself.
*shrug*
You are that light that shines behind my eyes. You are the glare on my glasses. You are the sweat on my palms, the dust particles I inhale. You are the microorganisms crawling on my skin. You are the dirt under my nails and the polish on top. You are my plasma, my blood platelets, the fluid in my organs. You are my heart, lungs, and stomach. You are the liquid pouring into my kidneys, the tears flowing over my cheeks. You are my blush, lipstick, and eyeliner. You are my arms and legs. You are the words I read, the keys I press, you are the click of my mouse. You are the music I hear, you are the taste in my mouth. You are my chair. You are my shoes (mismatched) and my rings. You are... everything.
-@ 1:07 AM
I can't think quickly under pressure, nor can I subtract in my head.
I can't walk very far (crooked feet... sigh) nor can I carry very much (I'm just weak, lol).
The US military wouldn't want me (flat feet). Nor would I want them, really.
I am deathly afraid of ovens, toaster ovens, hair dryers, curling irons, toasters, stovetops (not very, but sometimes), blenders that are not my own, electric mixers, microwaves, waffle irons, and vacuum cleaners. Ironically, I'm not afraid of fire or boiling water.
I can't do realty, mortgage brokering, loan officering, accounting, marketing, or anything else involving math.
I'd like to do flower aranging, but I have allergies.
I couldn't work in a department store that has a fragrance counter because of my allergies.
I can't work in Wal*Mart because I despise the stupid.
For the same reason, I can't be a social worker or a case worker.
I don't have the money to go to school to become anything worthwhile, meaning doctor or lawyer, neither of which I want to do anyway.
I'd be a hairdresser, but I don't want to touch people's heads if they haven't been washed. Besides, seeing hair being cut makes me physically ill.
Scratch singing off of any list, because I can't :)
Plus dancing.
Couldn't be a cop because I'm a coward. Couldn't be a judge because I'm lazy.
I go stir crazy sitting behind desks all day, and I loathe the telephone more than is normal for humans.
What can I do?
I've been thinking of becoming a writer. I could never be a novelist (though I'd love to be) but I could publish a collection of short stories. I could be a columnist. I could do advertising, maybe. I suppose that's it, but as you can plainly see based on my massive amounts of journalling and my passion for writing short stories, it's the one thing I do tirelessly, which is important to me since I get bored easily. I have fun creating characters, building their lives, then artistically killing them off because I'm morbid that way. One thing, though, that really gets me-- I don't write what I like to read. I don't like to read violence, over-descriptiveness, suicide, homicide, incontinuity, randomness, or overly romantic stories. But this is what I write... I'll never understand myself.
*shrug*
You are that light that shines behind my eyes. You are the glare on my glasses. You are the sweat on my palms, the dust particles I inhale. You are the microorganisms crawling on my skin. You are the dirt under my nails and the polish on top. You are my plasma, my blood platelets, the fluid in my organs. You are my heart, lungs, and stomach. You are the liquid pouring into my kidneys, the tears flowing over my cheeks. You are my blush, lipstick, and eyeliner. You are my arms and legs. You are the words I read, the keys I press, you are the click of my mouse. You are the music I hear, you are the taste in my mouth. You are my chair. You are my shoes (mismatched) and my rings. You are... everything.
-@ 1:07 AM
no subject
As for a writer, great idea.
But I wouldn't think that many could just write something and then just have it published right away.
What about writing for the newspaper and then writing short stories as a second job, or something like that.
no subject
Yeah, I thought of that, how no one gets published right away. I'll definitely write for something and do short stories on the side.
Ivyette
no subject
Or when I get really rich and famous for doing something completely ridiculous (cause that's how everyone get's famous) you can be my manager. Drive a taxi. Write about me in magazines! Just trying to help out with some choices :)
<3 Ennair.
no subject
Ivyette
no subject
no subject
'Vyette