I’m going to let my hair grow really long again and invest in a little piece of turquoise jewellery. She’s still the princess I admire most.
I think I’d be a doctor.
I ditched everything maths and science related as quick as I could because I’m not actually that good at it, but if I could start over, I think I’d work a lot harder to be better. Because then I could do something useful with my life.
When I first signed up to do an English degree, I didn’t see anything wrong in pursuing something you love. But I do fully appreciate the point that if you are self-indulgent in your choices, there’s a big chance you’ll never help anyone apart from yourself and even then, you might just fall short.
Sometimes, I go away inside my head and have little daydreams about another me in a parallel universe flying out to Syria or working in a free clinic in a poor area. They’re romanticised images, I know that. But they’re ones in which at least I’m trying to do something useful. You can’t buy health. You just can’t, and that’s something people seem to forget.
And the real me? I have a mulberry handbag and I answer telephone calls to people who often have fewer disappointments in life than finding the asparagus they wanted for their evening soiree hasn’t arrived in their online grocery order. WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP SPACE DID I LET MYSELF GET INTO?
I’m trying to change it. I’m giving more to charity and I’m applying for jobs left right and centre but none of them are honest jobs. Even working in PR for many charities means smoothing over harsh truths about just how little we can help, to make people part with their money. I’m pretty sure the only safe professions where I can try to help people now are teaching or writing something so damn good it sticks with someone and they will take it and become that wonderful person I always wanted to be, and share my book with someone else.