9:28 a.m. - 2002-06-28
A crisis of not so mammoth proportions
Yesterday, I left the pub knowing that I would never have to work there again. And I was the only one there who was aware of it.
You see, I'm playing hookie today. I have my reasons (not the least of which is that I hate it there, and feel like I'm going insane every time I walk through the front doors). It was supposed to be my last day of work, but I decided to use it as a last, subtle "screw you" instead. I can live without the �30 it would have given me, and the satisfation of knowing that I will never have to serve another drink, clean another shelf or listen to Eddy's constant complaining is recompense enough.
The main reason I called in sick (actually, John called Eddy, not me. I find it adds an air of authenticity when you get someone else to lie for you) was that I needed to clean out the guest bedroom. It's an absolute sty in there, because, well, that's just the way I tend to keep my room. Charlotte's parents are coming for the weekend, and I'm being moved out of the guest room along with all my belongings. Don't get me wrong, I'm not annoyed or upset or anything. I'm actually moving into a hostel tomorrow for the week before I leave for Scotland, so it's a perfect opportunity to organize everything and figure out what I need to take and what I want to leave behind.
Did I mention I'm going to Scotland? I probably have, but it's official now. And I'm very, very excited. I've seen London, I've DONE London. I want to see somewhere new and from what a lot of people have told me, Scotland, Edinburgh in particular, is both extremely fun and quite beautiful. So, I'm excited. Yay me.
But on to other things. I've been thinking a lot about something in particular these past few days, and that is this:
Is it possible to through a quasi-life crisis?
I mean, we've all established that people go through mid-life crises (why did dad buy a sports car - mid-life crisis; what's with mom's new preoccupation with leopard print leggings - mid-life crisis), but it seems to me there is ample opportunity to go through a Life crisis at a much earlier stage in life.
And this I call a "quasi-life" crisis. Just around the time you're turning 25 (I turn 24 in a few months, but I've always been mature for my age) you start to think about Life in general.
What do I want to do with my life? Where am I going? Where did I think was going before I got to where I am? What have I done?
And when, whichever direction you look in, you don't see an obvious or at least reasonable answer, you begin to have a crisis. I think I'm going through one now (and my immediate reaction was to leave home, travel thousands of miles across the ocean and have no better idea of the answers to these Life questions as I did before).
What do I want to do with my life? I used to think I had that one all sorted out. Up until the time I was 10 or 11, I wanted to be a zoologist. I had a real thing for animals, I loved them, and "zoology"! sounded to a child like it had a lot to do with animals (or at least zoos, which I loved going to). I remember, once, driving around downtown Toronto with my, and stopping at a light just outside the zoology department of the Univeristy of Toronto. I saw the sign and thought to myself (THAT's where I'm going to go to school one day).
Then I realized that along the road to zoologist, I would probably have to disect a few animals at various points, and this didn't appeal to me. The dream was lost.
Then I wanted to be an actress (doesn't everyone?). And not just some movie-starlet, no talent bimbo (although I did entertain certain fantacies about it, minus the bimbo part) but a Serious Actress. I was in the plays in high school, I did outside courses and workshops and I even completed a year of drama at University.
Then I realized that without a certain look (which I didn't have) the most I could hope for was a good waitressing job and some stagetime in Toronto's fringe theatre community. That didn't appeal to me at all. The dream was lost (but the fantacizing is still there).
So, after a year working as a hostess (which is one step DOWN from a wiatress, note the irony) I decided I wanted to work behind the scenes in movies (director, editor, ect.) I went to school and got my degree, as I felt I should.
Then I realized the "read world" in which I would actually have to get a job and work hard at breaking my way in to the industry didn't appeal to me. The dream is not yet completely lost, I still have a search party out on that one.
So, now I'm entertaining all sorts of (somewhat appealing ideas); academic (I would then officially be smart), a writer (I could sit at my computer and my pajamas and technically be working), world-travelling waitress (not necessarily a career move, but it might be fun for a while), and so on and so forth.
The point is I have absolutely no clue what I'm going to do with my life.
Where am I going?
To Scotland. With no clue as to the answer of question number 1, I can really only look to the near future for the answer to number 2.
Where did I think I was going before I got?
To bigger and better things. What a croc.
I've always been the type of person who likes to have a plan, and when I don't have one, I feel unsettled and unsure of myself. So, I guess I always Thought I "knew" where I was going, it's just that none of it ever materialized the way I believed it would. Go figure.
What have I done?
Well, this is a big one, which I can't really cover here. That's for another keyboard rant.
The ultimate point is I think I'm going through a quasi-life crisis, which I am now sure exists, and I have given it a name. I should patent it.
