Let's hope my recent melancholic musings are fueled by estrogen, because if they're not, I'm screwed. I feel like a failure...a loser even. I'm back in Canada with no journalistic proof of my journey abroad and no great job perspectives. I am looking for a job in communications because it pays better and more importantly because I'm too lazy and unmotivated to be a decent freelancer. I don't even have a job title. I'm not a neuroscientist, I'm not a journalist. If I get work, what will I be? A "communicator"? Big deal, even my cat can communicate.
I always had big dreams and for the past few weeks I have been telling myself that I need to face reality and that my dreams of being a novelist/doctor/feminist politician/rock climber/orphanage opener/ were just that...dreams. Silly dreams. Until I realized in an early morning clear headed moment that really, I had just failed to apply myself. Ever. To anything.
It seems that the only commitment I have ever made and kept was to mediocrity.