Future

Some days I wake up and I truly wonder where I'm going. Although generally I believe in living in the moment, as long as it doesn't jeopardise my future, today I realised I need to come up with something. I need to come up with an approximate idea of what I want to do.

For a few months I've been toying with the idea of graduating, moving to Amsterdam and working for a year, and then going to study architecture in England. Which is all fine and dandy since I love architecture. But then I wonder why I want to do it- and I already know the reason.

Let me tell you something.
I've always wanted to be an artist. Or a writer. But I know that in today's society if I were to be successfull as a writer I would have to write in a way that well... SUCKS. When I say successfull I obviously mean "I can pay the rent."
So my dad convinced me that architecture combines both art and a comfortable living. Yet there's the problem. That one little word there that freaks me the fuck out. COMFORTABLE.


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The world is wasted on us.

The future is surely scowling down on us, knowing we're going to arrive some day soon and not looking forward to it. Future is probably hiding all the best wine, scotch and the expensive Danish biscuits so that when we come all we'll be offered is the cheap beer and old waffles.

I'm sure when we called future and said we're coming, future delightedly said "Oh yes, so looking forward to your arrival!" then angrily put the phone down, a hand to her head and said "It's best I hide the silver now, they might be coming early."

Future knows we'll be taking the silver. Future knows we'll be scouring the cupboards in search of her best wine and scotch and Danish biscuits. The worst part is we think we're so careful, so stealthy and clever, all the while she's staring at our hunched backs with our bottoms sticking up as we look under her cupboards and tables and sofas.