Monday, 28 August 2017

What do I say to people who say to me what is it that you do?

One of the hardest parts about not having a proper job, no degree, no specific career path or idea of actually what it is I want to 'be' is this question.

I do loads of stuff, I earn money cleaning people's houses because there is literally nothing else out there for me right now. So why can't I say that? I can think of lots of reasons. I'm a snob, or at least someone who believes that jobs define a person to some extent, I guess I grew up with that, but personally? I feel like saying that, I've failed in life. I know it's not the case, but I'm being honest here.
I have a at the very least a book about being a woman with Aspergers in me, a screenplay on a historical character I want to write, and a cook book. That's all the writing.
I would like to run a natty little shop in the centre of Utrecht selling interesting stuff relating to cycling, not bikes, everything but the bike - which is what I'd call it.
I would like to campaign for women's rights home and abroad, it's a subject so nebulous and so far from a place where we are anywhere near an acceptable level of equality with men, I don't know where to start.
I'd like to make a concept album about Utrecht with electronic music.
I'd like to be a stand up comedian
I'd like to be able to do lots of long and short random projects that touch people, inspire people and cause trouble for people who already have a way to big slice of pie. If you get a big piece of pie, when you are full, share the rest. The chances are, that pie you have, even if you worked hard for it, you didn't work hard for the body and mind you were given when you were born, that came to you by chance, as did who your parents were and so on. I'm fed up with people thinking that just because you worked hard, you didn't get to work hard by working hard, you got to work hard by having a vehicle (body and mind) that worked in the first place.

Anyway. Still don't know what to say when that dreaded question comes up.

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