So here I am pursuing my dream of being a journalist but every few seconds I burst into cold sweats and strain my heart at the thought of having to do this for any length of time in my life. To calm my heart I rush over to the design section, the passion above all passions of mine and experience the same doom and gloom. I watch the designers hunched over their keyborads in nicotine and caffeine induced shakes and I pray to God that He will take me from this earth before I ever subject myself to such mindless torture.
Everday this week I have returned home and searched the eyes of my brother and sister who have chained themselves to desks for many a year and I drop to my knees, cling onto their ankles and beg for divine wisdom as to how they get through it knowing that from now till the day they die, they have to climb back onto the nine to five treadmill. They look down at me with pitiful eyes and in the softest voices reply, "I can do it because I love my job".
But how do you love your job? How can I ever love all the millions of possibilituies that are laid down before me enough to pick one that I will be able to spend five to ten years on, without turning into a haggard mess?
I have become lost in this mediated world. All I know is what I do not want, which is not the answer that I want.