I think I have FINALLY decided on a career choice after much debate with myself and spending the past few days in solitude.
I have spent over three days working solidly on my art work and have come to terms with the fact that it is most probably the only thing I actually have SOME talent in. After going to Chiswick for 5 years my brain has died and mental capacity has become almost nil. My plans of becoming a dermatologist after getting a C in science failed, resulting in me re-choosing my subjects and taking art again even though I despise it. Psychology and English are the two subjects I am genuinely interested in however I do considerably better in both German and art which will practically get me nowhere.
I pretty much realised that my ideal job now would be something along the lines of fashion journalism, PR work or event organising, and pretty mush all of them barely involve me to be particularily academic (minus english) and more artistic and have good social skills.
I was in the shittiest mood yesterday after hours of painting and making clay carcasses (lol wut) and then didn't see James because he still had work to do. I ended up being a miserable git to him when he doesn't deserve it whatsoever as he is an amazing boyfriend and I was just being all panicky and retarded about future career options, how my life fails and my hips are widening at an increasing rate.
Bla, bla, bla, ranting on etc, but basically I have decided I want to study fashion journalism and event organising at the London College of Fashion. Ideally I would like to go to Uni and spend most of my nights drinking cheap beer and living in a squat with 25 other people whilst turning up at lectures with enough bags under my eyes to supply tescos for a month. But now instead I will most probably be surrounded by people with neon hair, who wear binliners as skirts and drink an excessive amount of coffe to stay awake whilst sewing leggins for Gareth Pugh.
I personally don't mind that, I just don't like the thought of being the only one left living at home with my parents whilst everyone is off to become doctors and lawyers on the other side of England (AND LIVING BY THEMSELVES)
Its a risky future plan as I could completely flop once I discover I actually don't have any talents and end up becoming a hobo licking pavements for nutrients which my starving artless body needs. I could also just live in a cheap flat in hackney and make sculptures of pregnant women. (Which many "artistes" seem to earn much money from successively :/ )
I could just solve the entire problem by going on Big Brother and start a relationship with a man called Kev from Manchester who enjoys "lads nights out" and has some sort of deformity. Our relationship could result in marriage and we could sell out wedding photos to OK magazine, of me and him in matching velour tracksuits. Then I could spend the rest of my life going to Chinawhite and throwing glasses of wine over members of girls aloud and falling over whilst getting into a taxi so the world catches a glimpse of my diamante thong. Once I get over the sex tape scandal I marry a football player and spend the rest of my life applying fake tan.
Story of my future life.
Oh dear.
I have spent over three days working solidly on my art work and have come to terms with the fact that it is most probably the only thing I actually have SOME talent in. After going to Chiswick for 5 years my brain has died and mental capacity has become almost nil. My plans of becoming a dermatologist after getting a C in science failed, resulting in me re-choosing my subjects and taking art again even though I despise it. Psychology and English are the two subjects I am genuinely interested in however I do considerably better in both German and art which will practically get me nowhere.
I pretty much realised that my ideal job now would be something along the lines of fashion journalism, PR work or event organising, and pretty mush all of them barely involve me to be particularily academic (minus english) and more artistic and have good social skills.
I was in the shittiest mood yesterday after hours of painting and making clay carcasses (lol wut) and then didn't see James because he still had work to do. I ended up being a miserable git to him when he doesn't deserve it whatsoever as he is an amazing boyfriend and I was just being all panicky and retarded about future career options, how my life fails and my hips are widening at an increasing rate.
Bla, bla, bla, ranting on etc, but basically I have decided I want to study fashion journalism and event organising at the London College of Fashion. Ideally I would like to go to Uni and spend most of my nights drinking cheap beer and living in a squat with 25 other people whilst turning up at lectures with enough bags under my eyes to supply tescos for a month. But now instead I will most probably be surrounded by people with neon hair, who wear binliners as skirts and drink an excessive amount of coffe to stay awake whilst sewing leggins for Gareth Pugh.
I personally don't mind that, I just don't like the thought of being the only one left living at home with my parents whilst everyone is off to become doctors and lawyers on the other side of England (AND LIVING BY THEMSELVES)
Its a risky future plan as I could completely flop once I discover I actually don't have any talents and end up becoming a hobo licking pavements for nutrients which my starving artless body needs. I could also just live in a cheap flat in hackney and make sculptures of pregnant women. (Which many "artistes" seem to earn much money from successively :/ )
I could just solve the entire problem by going on Big Brother and start a relationship with a man called Kev from Manchester who enjoys "lads nights out" and has some sort of deformity. Our relationship could result in marriage and we could sell out wedding photos to OK magazine, of me and him in matching velour tracksuits. Then I could spend the rest of my life going to Chinawhite and throwing glasses of wine over members of girls aloud and falling over whilst getting into a taxi so the world catches a glimpse of my diamante thong. Once I get over the sex tape scandal I marry a football player and spend the rest of my life applying fake tan.
Story of my future life.
Oh dear.
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