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Sep. 5th, 2007 @ 10:22 am Morning Ramblings
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I'm feelin': contemplativecontemplative
Writing. I have always dreamed of doing it for a living. Well, “always” may be a bit much but since I could actually think of a career, that’s what I’ve wanted to do. The first time that I remember being asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, all the other girls had said they wanted to be models and actresses, I knew then that I wasn’t pretty enough to be one of those so I said “director”. They just stared at me. Even the teacher just stared at me like she didn’t know what I meant (now that I think of it, though, she may have been staring because I said something different than the norm). “Movie director”, I said again. “Oh”, was the response I got and then onto the next person. The next time I remember being asked a similar question was in Grade 7. I think we were doing some sort of aptitude testing or something. I had no idea what I could be; let alone what I wanted to be at the age.

I wasn’t popular in school, but I had friends. I was on sports teams, basketball, volleyball, soccer ( yes I know it’s really called football Jefe, but the team I was on was called a soccer team :D ) but I was never the star player or a “really good” player, I just came to every practice and played hard because I didn’t know any different. I wanted to win as badly as everyone else, but sports weren’t my life, they were just fun.

Swimming, though, now that was my thing, I LOVED it. Again, I was not a competitor, I did it because it was fun and I loved being in the water and I still do to this day. So, swimming came naturally to me. My Grandparents had a cottage Up North on a lake and I would swim every chance I got. But I had to be safe. I had to be safe because my Grandfather was scared of one of us drowning. The only place my Grandfather turned into a Nervous Nelly was around the water—unless he was fishing. My Grandfather couldn’t swim. He was from NB. He had his mechanic’s licence and a chauffeur’s driver’s licence at 12, and he joined the army and went overseas to fight a war at 14, but he could not swim and was afraid of the water.

So I took swimming lessons -- and so did my Dad. What? Yep. My mom was a very strong swimmer, my Dad wasn’t afraid like my Grandfather; he just didn’t know how to do more than float and the doggy paddle. He drove a boat all the time, went fishing all the time, knew how to water ski—slalom and barefoot no less—but Front Crawl, Breaststroke and treading water might as well have been ballet. So we all learned how to swim so my Grandfather didn’t have to stand on the edge of the dock, 6 seconds from panic, when we were in the water.

Wow, apparently I digress. How did this get here from me wanting to be a writer? Oh yeah, swimmingàlifeguardingàcareer. Right. So when they asked us to pick a career I picked being a lifeguard. Yeah I know, I was 13 ok? It was 1989! I blame it all on Baywatch! It all comes back to the Hoff and Pam Anderson! (Evil Monkey point! Evil Monkey point!!)

Ok, I’m going to end this here. I got thinking about this stuff because I am in the process of looking for another job. But I don’t want just another “job” unless it pays a fuck of a lot of money, I want a “career”. I have the $40,000 piece of paper that says at one point I was smart and had goals. Now where’s my dame $50,000 a year career? I’m kidding, folks. I know a university education does not equal a career, well-paying or otherwise, nor does it give me special whining rights. I’m just pissy with myself for wasting opportunities I didn’t know were right under my nose. I’m a freaking idiot and it’s a bitter pill to get stuck on the back of your tongue when you don’t have big enough glass of water to choke it down with, alright? LOL.

Ok, this rant is going nowhere fast. I gotta go be productive somewhere before I have to go to work and be productive for someone else. :D