Monday, 14 October 2013

Existential Crisis!!

Now that I've caught your attention with a fancy sounding title, let me assure you that this letter once again contains my profound revelations about my own life. Yes, I have managed to one up you in the 'self absorbed' stakes, Henri.
But on a much serious note (yeah right!) I suffered from a serious case of self doubt over the 'future' recently. I am not really proud of how I came about this sudden 'crisis'. 
I don't think you have any idea how obsessed I am with the idea of writing for Cosmo. It is one of my life's ambition to work at Cosmo (it's not saying much since one of my ambition in life is to poke my Journalism professor in the stomach and see if the rumors about his abdomen being covered by acrylic sheet instead of skin are actually true)
Anyways, I had always imagined myself, very conveniently, placed in Cosmo right after college and working there as a columnist. Now all my well laid plans of Cosmo glory are awry.
And why you ask? The Existential Crisis, my beautiful imaginary friend. 
I came across an article, while surfing Cosmo's website, 'How sexy bitches kiss: 10 ways that sexy bitches kiss'. I kid you not.
The 'EC' (acronyms are cool) came crashing onto me as I thought: Do I want to write about the techniques used by sexy bitches to kiss?
And it led to a chain reaction of questions and uncertainties for the future arouse in my brain. 
The idea of future scares me. Future has always been so abstract. And now it is in our faces expecting us to make *shudder* decisions.
I had everything planned. It was not a good plan, not even a feasible one, but it was a plan nonetheless.
I would get out of college. Work for Cosmo for a couple of years and then open my own bookstore. 
But now stupid reality has given me a big check and my previously held beliefs about my glorious future at Cosmo are being questioned.
Another thing working against me is the fact that I cannot write when told what to write. It's as if all the things I know and have learnt about writing, just fall right out of my brain. So faced with the mother of writing blocks, I came upon this realization.
The only option left for me is to do a J.K Rowling and become successful enough to write on my own accord. But you and I, both, know that the chances of that are slimmer than me riding my unicorn up to the moon.
I envy you. What with being imaginary and all that, you don't have to worry about the future or what you're going to do with your life. 
So I will figure out what I can do to become rich and famous, without doing anything and you continue to live your glamorous imaginary existence.
Till the next time.
River Targaryen

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