Today I had to craft a lovely budget plan for one of my classes. This crushed every dream I had of being handed a blank check and the keys to a Bentley simply because I don't suck as a human. Apparently, that criterion does not merit the riches of Persian princes. Who would've thought. This is complete potatoes.
After rent, insurance, utilities, gas, entertainment and the student loans I figured a little keebler elf would take care of, I'll have 200 dollhairs left over each month to order a Netflix and eat Ramen noodles with my fish. (Less shitty animals don't fit the budget)
I'm beginning to think that maybe the real world isn't paved with rainbows and tootsiepops and that I may (God Forbid) be stuck in fugly business attire sitting at a desk while some fat twitchy man barks orders at me. And as lovely as that sounds, I don't picture the next 40 years of my life being encompassed by hating my job. I've got dreams big enough to move mountains, but my idle stance on the "go-getting" seems to be making my dreams seem further and further out of reach. I know I can do something great, but I'm so scared of failing that I haven't done anything to follow these dreams. I know what I am capable of doing yet at the same time I'm not sure what I want to do.
I want to help people. I want to travel. I want to write a novel. I don't want to wither away in a cubicle. I don't want to work for something I don't believe in. I don't want to sell my soul for a nice paycheck. But at the same time, worrying about money is no way to live. So we're back to square one. I could either become the next President or hang up my college degree in the break-room of Subway. Until graduation, I'll remain in my bubble of delusions.