SO, WE’RE DRINKING BEERS AND MY BOYFRIEND’S GOT THE WHOLE PARTY HANGING OFF HIS EVERY WORD WITH A STORY ABOUT THE ONE TIME HE WAS ROAD TRIPPING ACROSS AMERICA WITH 12 OF HIS MATES.
My brain is reeling: must. interject. with. hilarious. comment. to. show. how. awesome. I. am. and. that. he. made. good. choices. being. with. me.
Of course, my mind is blank, the brain bank is in the red, and I’m running out of time.
All of a sudden, the connection from my brain to my mouth starts talking:
It kind of reminds me of the time I was at university and joined an all girl accapella group. Ah, good times.
*Circle looks at me and collectively thinks*
Ummmm, that’s Pitch Perfect, you loser.
I don’t always have the funniest story.
I don’t always land the punchline.
I don’t always have the wittiest comment.
But I do have the balls to go after what I want.
There I was.
2 degrees down. 2 career paths walked.
Double deluded with what the choices society had offered.
Then I started writing. And everything changed.
Today. I'm drunk. On words. And also wine.
I was jaded. A call centre hero. And not an ounce of passion in me. As the final shot slammed onto the table empty, I decided speech pathology was my purpose. A week later I submitted my application for the Masters program. 6 months later, I got in.
Before I was a speech pathologist, I was a marketing consultant. With an honours degree in marketing + media communications, my work was anything but honourable. A glorified paper pusher.