Recently I confessed to a couple of friends that I'd like to hit the restart button. Yes, I want a do-over.
I'd go back to my first year of university. I'd smack myself upside the head, take that obscene vodka candy apple out of my hand, tell myself to go put on a turtleneck and study some more (OR AT ALL, DAMN IT). Also, that boy will never like you back for reasons to be revealed in Season 2 of Meg in the City, don't sweat it so much. And stop rigging your schedule to casually "bump into him" in between classes and in the cafeteria.
And I'd get a different degree.
When my friends asked me what I'd have taken instead of Business, and I answered, they pointed out that it wasn't too late. I could quite easily, with my BComm, go back to said faculty and in two years be on the way to a brand spankin' new career.
I could start now! I could probably still apply!
Basically, two of my best and oldest friends in the city, the ones that have known me since October 2002, when I delicately set foot into an audition, the ones that made fun of me for believing that sagging and fine lines would never happen to me, and listened to me whine about how I was neeeeeeeever going to find looooooooooove and then were patient when I found love and dropped off the face of the freaking planet for a year (or two)...
They called me on my bullshit.
Because I do like my job. And I'm good at it. And it's sort of glam, and fab, and shiny. Unlike some other career that pretty much everyone in my entire family and life has devoted themselves to, which is unglam and unfab and entirely about serving other people and the betterment of society and not about how sparkly fabulous am I and this awesome cocktail dress that I am wearing to this sweet gala, and I know so much about art and culture and I am so incredibly captivating!?!
And if I'm honest, I'm not ready to give up the galas.
Thanks, friends. I guess sometimes a girl doesn't need a restart button. She needs a reality check.
2 days ago