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Photo 21-08-2015 12 59 51 am.jpg

Do you ever wonder whether you’re reaching your full potential? I do. You see, I’m currently sitting on the couch with my pug while some kind of bastard virus wends its way through my system (for which the doctors saw fit to give me no drugs aside from anti-nausea and Imodium). After resigning myself to my fate, I turned to the only viable place I know for distraction: TV. Specifically, The Martian. I watched all those smart, fictional astronauts do their smarty pants calculations and solve all their ridiculously hard problems and I thought to myself, “Hey, I’m smart. Maybe not astronaut-smart but still pretty damn clever. How come I’m not in space or doing something similarly awesome?”

And you know what, I think, for once, I have the answer to one of my self-directed questions. The answer is ambition. Drive. I don’t have any. I mean, I want to do well in a generic I-want-to-go-places-and-do-things-kind-of-way but I don’t have any specific goals. All through my childhood, I never really knew what I wanted to do when I grew up. Not that that’s a sign of anything – lots of people are like that – but I’ve never grown out of that phase. And I genuinely have no fucking clue. I float around like Matt Damon in his goddamn Iron-Man astronaut suit (do what you can with this if you haven’t seen the movie) – actually, this metaphor doesn’t even work because even Matt Damon had a goal; to get to the main spacecraft (oops spoilers – sorry!). I don’t even have that aside from wishy-washy goals like, ‘I just want to be happy and healthy’, which of course is important but not really the point of the post.

So. This is my thing. When I’m doing something, I do it well but I don’t have an end goal. I don’t have a ‘this is where I want to be when I’m 35’ plan. Fuck, I don’t even know what I want to do in one year besides be finished uni. I don’t even really have a definite plan for what I want to do with my studies. What if I finish and then just keep doing what I’m doing, which means I put myself through all this stress and study shit for no reason? That’s a fucking terrifying idea right there.

I know everyone’s different and we can’t all be chiefs, we need some indians yada yada yada blah blah blah [insert meaningless feel-moderately-better-about-yourself cliche here] but surely surely I have a purpose? Not in a save the world sense but just in a make your own life meaningful to you sense. I mean, why else do we get up every day if not because we have something to work towards other than just surviving another day to come home and do it again? Surely that’s a pretty bleak existence, right? I don’t know. Maybe this virus has breached my brain. Actually, I like that more. Let’s go with that.

I’m going to get under my doona and watch more TV now. Books are not a possibility. I don’t have the brain power.