If Phelps can find eight medals at the bottom of a Chinese pool, then surely I can achieve just one of my goals and break out from these four walls called work. This morning I penned a feeble list of things stopping me from being the buoyant Ms M that I was destined to be (year eight scrap books don’t lie!), and it strangely didn’t amount to very much of a hurdle. I haven’t spawned any progeny (although I do listen to Prodigy) and I don’t have a mortgage menacing overhead. Sure I need the money, but the pay isn’t all that great (what after tax and bossy overheads), and I wouldn’t even bother stealing any of the animal emblazoned stationary. The money that I earn hasn’t been siphoned off to a husband or two and a bit kids or a holiday house down in Sorrento. And if I'm not going to be the queen of leisure then at least I should be living as an artist, but my painting and drawing efforts are more autistic than artistic, and I don’t have the ovaries to perform stand up.The real issue is that I don’t know what the alternatives are. All I really know for sure is what I definitely don’t want to do as opposed to what I really want to do, and with only a third of my life remaining, the prospect of being lost in life is a little daunting. There needs to be a roadmap; a Melways for life – the do ‘this’ and wind up with ‘that’, but if you do the ‘other’ then you will have ‘this’ guide to everyday living. It could have a foreword from Phelps endorsing the pages and a big thanks to the original creator / wife, without whom none of the medals, holiday homes, or Louvre-worthy masterpieces would have been even remotely possible.
Now back to reality and rosters,
The seven-medals-off-fabulous Miss M.
PS: before I get any hate mail from the Angelina Jolie stalking club – I do realize that the above lips aren’t mine (although if I had the money they would be), but they will have to do as a future substitute until I find the time to pick up a damn webcam!
