I’m scared. I’m not looking for a designer job or lifestyle. I just want a sustainable one. In every facet of my wretched existence, I’ve screwed up royally. I would blame the quarter-life crisis for feeling like that, but it may be self-indulgent to call it a crisis, and it doesn’t look like it’s going away a few years from now. I kinddaa know where I’m going, but I don’t know where I am now.
And I’ve got 4 months to change that.
In any case, I have plans. After watching Thor today, I want to marry Tom Hiddleston. How can anyone be so perfectly chiselled! How can anyone be so beautiful! I digress. So, for our hunnymoon, we’d go to a Malibu resort. Me and him would walk barefooted on a powdery beach under the moonlight. His damp hair in the summer breeze, his dark eyes and ivory-white skin.....Then we’d have dinner in a darkened restaurant, thick with the smell of wood and salt. Instead of violins, I’d listen to him tell me about his battle stories and show me his battle scars. Meanwhile, of course, I’d win the Nobel prize for finding the cure for cancer or HIV.
And I would dream of all that tonight if I’m lucky. So, in case things don’t go exactly like plan A, I have a plan B. This would be when I’m somewhere in the middle of grad school, single, past 25 and well past my prime, hanging out with my single female friends every weekend, and single. I would get hold of a rich, lonely banker or trader (or both), tell them I like them, put on a skirt and sing them this song:
If plan B works, I can quit grad school. By that I mean leave the lab before 10pm since I don’t have to worry about grants, stipends or becoming a PI. It’s a pity the evolution of human intelligence hasn’t left the males behind. Damn. And I’d need to buy some guile, which isn’t found in this country. Plan C: I’m old but not yet dead. Me and my dog would fill our meaningful lives with memberships to Walmart, Weight Watchers and Garett Popcorn’s Big Eaters Club... I guess I know where my life is now.
And I’ve got 4 months to change that.
In any case, I have plans. After watching Thor today, I want to marry Tom Hiddleston. How can anyone be so perfectly chiselled! How can anyone be so beautiful! I digress. So, for our hunnymoon, we’d go to a Malibu resort. Me and him would walk barefooted on a powdery beach under the moonlight. His damp hair in the summer breeze, his dark eyes and ivory-white skin.....Then we’d have dinner in a darkened restaurant, thick with the smell of wood and salt. Instead of violins, I’d listen to him tell me about his battle stories and show me his battle scars. Meanwhile, of course, I’d win the Nobel prize for finding the cure for cancer or HIV.
And I would dream of all that tonight if I’m lucky. So, in case things don’t go exactly like plan A, I have a plan B. This would be when I’m somewhere in the middle of grad school, single, past 25 and well past my prime, hanging out with my single female friends every weekend, and single. I would get hold of a rich, lonely banker or trader (or both), tell them I like them, put on a skirt and sing them this song:
If plan B works, I can quit grad school. By that I mean leave the lab before 10pm since I don’t have to worry about grants, stipends or becoming a PI. It’s a pity the evolution of human intelligence hasn’t left the males behind. Damn. And I’d need to buy some guile, which isn’t found in this country. Plan C: I’m old but not yet dead. Me and my dog would fill our meaningful lives with memberships to Walmart, Weight Watchers and Garett Popcorn’s Big Eaters Club... I guess I know where my life is now.