You may be surprised to see me say this, but I’m being completely honest. This is my first drunk post. I’m not really that big a drinker. I’m in terrible drinking shape. But I just got an email that started off all “this is long, so grab a drink and relax and read it” and I said, y’know, that’s an awesome idea. And black tea and elderflower-flavored vodka (Absolut Boston) with limeade can’t possibly go wrong. Actually, limeade can’t ever go wrong, but that’s a different story.
So this email I got was about how to start being a wedding planner. And if you’re reading this and not married, chances are, you totally want me to plan your wedding. “But Rachael, I thought you were a creative writing student!” Yeah. I am. And where has that gotten me? Well…okay, it’s sort of gotten me a blog that it seems has a decent number of readers now (hi, new people! Thanks for coming!) and might increase and I haven’t written off the option of becoming the next Bloggess. I also haven’t written off the option of becoming the next Danielle Corsetto (and if you don’t read Girls with Slingshots, go there right now and read the whole archives because then you might catch up in time for the wrap-up of the current storyline which seems to be about the disappearance of all batteries, causing sex toys to be completely useless and women around the world to think it’s the apocalypse. TRUE STORY). I also haven’t written off the option of becoming Neil Gaiman but slightly less successful because I want to actually write and not be flying around to give talks and when I fed Amanda Palmer she definitely told me that I don’t want to be her husband. (P.S. I think it’s totally fucking awesome that my favorite singer and my favorite writer got married.)
Anyway, so the point here. I swear there is one. I have to do an internship before I graduate, and I’ve failed miserably at actually looking for one up until now, and now I’m filling out the application for one and it asks: What are your long-term career goals?
How can I even answer that? I want everything. But not in the Ariel sense, because I hear she’s totally a hipster these days, and once I tried to categorize my professors from last semester into celebrity personality-alikes (because I can’t think of a word) and I ended up with Professor Wil Wheaton, Professor Abby Sciuto-I-Know-She’s-Just-A-Character (But substitute literature for science) and Professor “Oh he’s pretty underground you probably haven’t heard of him”. No lie. That’s not the point, though. The point is that I have no fucking clue what my ultimate goals are.
I mean, I’m going to have to talk to people about this. And while I make up something that sounds good (I think I’ll go with Neil Gaiman there), it’s forcing me to think about it for myself. Even worse, it’s forcing me to acknowledge that I. don’t. know.
And that’s okay. Right? How many people out there are happily doing exactly what they wanted to be happily doing when they were 23? How many people really went into a field that relates to their degree? I don’t fucking know, but I’m pretty sure there aren’t a lot of them. Maybe like 30%?
So when I graduate, I’ll probably try the wedding planning thing. I’ll probably try everything on and be a fucking Barbie except reasonably proportioned and without an eating disorder and come out of it with enough things that I can be a really good old person when the time comes, with opinions on how just about everything should be done and a strong conviction that kids these days fucking suck. And that’s what I’ll say.
In the meantime, I need to go to sleep. And get famous. You guys make me famous and I won’t have to worry about any of this shit. (You can’t tell, but I’m stressing the fuck out right now. Thank god for Booze and Ice Cream. Yes, they deserve capital letters. [I wouldn’t even know what to do with being famous. Shit. That plan isn’t as solid as I thought.])