I don't know

'I don't know what to be I don't know how to change from being me I don't know what to say Maybe another day I'll stop getting lost and find my way, home'



I have had one of those days where you wake up feeling utterly lost. I have finished school forever, as in that is the end of an ear, no more, not going back. The A Levels are over, and nothing official was said to us as we headed out the gates last Friday. I cant tell that I'll ever see those girls again, and I want to, but you can already tell the conversations that we'll have. You know, the ones that go along the lines of "Ahh how are you, we should go out this weekend"... "you're busy, we'll go out in the week, I'll text you". But you wont bother to text, and nor will they. Its the thought, and the idea of keeping a great big circle of friends sitting around in a London pub laughing loudly and swishing their hair about, and talking about the antics them and their college type boyfriends get up to. Looks good, looks glamours. But you can buy glamour and looks, and friendship doesn't fit into the equation.

I need a job. I do not want to work just anywhere for the money, because in a years time I want to say I did a good positive thing. If I don't earn much money, then that's fine, but I want to have a career that I actually enjoy.
I crave success.
Like how when you see a picture of a bottle of Coke and you can taste it as soon as you see it, feel the ice melting on the tip of the tongue and the saccharine infiltrating your clean teeth. That is what I can sense most of the time. I crave something I tasted once before, when I stood on a stage and got an applause.
That's one taste you can never place in a bottle, but if you could anyone could be successful, and that brings happiness and ambition and every single thing a person could dream of.

I want to be a writer. Well, I am a writer, simply because this is what I'm doing at this moment, and its how I introduce myself at parties and pubs. It used to be actress, but I have a big nose, big ears, big boobs that look stupid because I'm not the type to flaunt my only slightly good asset. Basically I don't feel that anyone would be willing to see my face in a film because its not one you could tolerate for that long.
So I will write. Maybe I'll get to live the life of Carrie Bradshaw, with designer clothes and glossy friends holding life long magazines. Or maybe its the other way round.

If anyone wants a writer for a magazine, a fashion writer, a life writer or anything to do with acting ( I would still love to make it) then please, pay me some attention.
Tomorrow I'll start walking round with a post it note on my back, saying:
" Girl, 18, a bit naive. For sale."


There won't be any takers.