I talk a lot about becoming old, which I am aware may seem crazy as I am only 23, but I'm beginning to think it's not my fault. It's not some mad insecurity of mine it is the pressures of society dammit. Or something like that anyway. It's definitely people trying to rush me. They keep asking me questions about me, about my life, what I want to do with it, who I want to do it with. And when. I don't know.
It all started back at university when someone asked what I wanted to do as a career. I didn't know. Three years later I still don't know because I want to do everything: PR, marketing, journalism, art direction, social media consultancy.... all of those would be great. What I dream of though is being a novelist. I want to write. More than anything I want to huddle down in a house in the middle of the woods, next to a lake and not too far from the beach and I want to write a story.
It will be one of those epic stories that will be so amazing it will never win awards, people won't understand it, but it will lead to the odd fan letter telling me I am a genius and that I summed up their entire being within the pages, albeit probably virtual pages as by the time I finish it print will have almost died and nobody will want my book enough to get it printed on demand. (And yes, on demand printing is a thing. Blackwells have a massive vending machine for it and everything.)
That or it will be a really girly, chick lit type novel that will over exaggerate my love life into one amusing tale. Not quite genius but it'll be a novel and it will be mine. Either way, this is apparently not an appropriate career choice if I want to eat and actually able to afford to live in that house in the middle of the woods.
Lately however, the questions my family like to pose to me have upped their ante. At the last family party my idiot uncle said "isn't it about time you pop out a few kids?" Erm, no. No it isn't. Then whilst baking chocolate fudge cupcakes together my little sister (age six) mumbles "when are you getting married?" She was awfully quiet and shy, very unlike her, and didn't even raise her head to look at me instead choosing to maintain eye contact with the chocolate and butter mixture that was melting in the pan as she stirred it. This is all down to my mothers previous comment: "We thought you and the boy might get engaged in Portugal."
I've assured my mother she is crazy. Sadly, my poor sister had taken this to mean that some time soon she would get to be bridesmaid, hence the shyness. I assured her that of course she could be a bridesmaid but she would probably more like 16 than six when that happened. She'll be even older when she becomes an aunt. In fact, that may never happen. Channel 4 has managed to scare the crap out of me with shows like Emergency in the Womb and One Born Every Minute.
So forgive me as I freak out a little at the thought of my other sister going to high school in September, of two best friends buying a house together and talking about having kids there, or the fact people keep telling myself that if you can't see the rest of your life with someone what's the point in being with them at all.
I know I don't need to feel rushed. Fingers crossed I have plenty of time. Sometimes it just gets a bit much so, throw me a stick and remind me I'm not the only one that has their feet firmly planted in the 'some day, but not today' field of thinking. Oh, and remind me to actually sit down and finish writing that novel in the not too distant. Even if it is chick lit and is written in my teenage bedroom at my fathers house rather than that beautiful house in the woods. I will do it. Some day.
No comments:
Post a Comment