I find myself wondering what I’m going to do when we do move West, and I realize that it really doesn’t matter. Sure, I’d like a glamorous job where I get to wear fashionable coats and knee-high boots, preferably in fashion, but I don’t really have the qualifications. If anything, my qualifications are anything but ideal.
I have a degree in IT, yes, but I promptly forgot about everything I supposedly learned the moment I graduated because I just wasn’t into it. I built a career in the call center industry, but it was mediocre, at best. Now I’m writing freelance, and I love every minute of it. I do know, however, that what I earn won’t be enough to live on in the big, bad, uber-expensive West, especially with retirement in mind.
I would love to work for a magazine; I like to think I’m good enough. But with all my research, I don’t think it’s ever going to happen when everyone seems to be looking for writers with the appropriate degrees. The same goes for advertising. Somehow, I don’t think anyone would take me simply because I’ve been writing online for a living for almost 2 years now.
Maybe I can be a shop girl; I’d love to work for a bookstore. Maybe I can be a bubblegum-chewing receptionist for some stuffy office. Or a waitress, even when I’m so clumsy that I trip on my feet on a regular basis. Who knows? I might find myself on an assembly line, putting together Ferrari parts. Any which way, I’m still wearing boots – preferably those sheepskin ones, ala Kate Moss.
Does it show that this whole “future” thing is freaking me out?






