A Revelation

I’m listening to the debut record from The 1975 after getting my fix of chocolate and 2 Broke Girls and I just had a revelation. And yes, I realize the irony of that sentence. (The 1975 has two songs called “Chocolate” and “Girls”)

I cannot begin to address the condition of my parents’ house, for there’s too much to be done to fix it even though it was first built 15 years ago when I was 10. My college loans are accumulating interest and this may be the last time I renew my deferments of 30 grand and my parents are beginning to cut me off from all the things I love (my favorite ice cream flavors, excursions to shows outside and in Baltimore City, lunches with my Towson friends, and visits to my best friend in Gaithersburg).

This is all because I desperately need a job somehow. My parents won’t get me to places I need to get to, especially rock shows to do local band stories, unless someone else is there with me to pay and provide transportation. On top of that, I’ve been limited to two meals a day because my parents have limited income and we eat out almost all the time, mainly due to stove problems and the fact that we have unwanted house guests.

This is when I begin imagining a better life for myself and my parents. Of course, this will never happen because what I really need to do is get a job flipping burgers at McDonald’s. Then again, even they aren’t hiring people.

On the bright side, at least I’m going to see a new therapist tomorrow! But here’s where I daydream:

Sometimes I think about being my own breed of Time Lord, a Tale Lord from planet Storaria traveling in a ship disguised as a hot air balloon that flies through story lines. I could transport myself into any story freely, or into any biography, meet anyone prominent in any history. I call myself The Author, The Doctor’s cousin and dearest friend to Thomas Jefferson, Jane Austen, Holly Golightly, Louis Armstrong, ‘Little Princess’ Sara Crewe, Dr. John Watson, Amelia Williams a.k.a. Amy Pond, Cleopatra, Captain James T. Kirk, Joey Ramone, and many others.

Her favorite sport is basketball, she’s a talented ice skater (she has an ice rink on her ship- the story dimensiator), she too likes Jammie Dodgers and tea, and whenever she regenerates she wishes she would at least have blond hair. Did I also mention her latest companion is a hot Irish guy who’s a guitar playing champion boxer?

But again, Tale Lords don’t exist and neither do Time Lords.

I also dream about having my own stage name, Ariel Mercer, and being the biggest music sensation around the globe. Bigger than Katy Perry and has the edginess of Billie Holiday and Pat Benatar combined, her mission is to promote local musicians across the country and give them the attention they need.

She got her fortune and fame from America’s Got Talent, flooring the judges and many viewers. Her music style is classy old school jazz blended with sexy rockabilly and punk, matching her playful 1920s meets rockabilly fashion style. Like Gwen Stefani, but with 50s silk scarves and her own handmade crochet berets. She’s been on Carson Daly, Letterman, Saturday Night Live, Jimmy Fallon, and was a guest star on The Big Bang Theory, for she’s a nerd.

Her biggest charities include Habitat for Humanity and The Will Rogers Institute to find a better treatment and possible cure for asthma, something to help her dad breathe easier.

But no, too much publicity would drive me straight to the mental institution, just like Britney Spears and Justin Bieber. I wouldn’t know thing one about handling the press and I think I’d lose my mind even more than I did my sophomore year of high school.

Then there’s my third and final dream—being the next big millionaire author.

Instead of being interviewed by music magazines, I’m interviewed by Writer’s Digest, The New York Times, The Washington Post, and other great publications that actually make a difference. My writings will soon bring in millions of dollars, surpassing bestsellers like Twilight, Fifty Shades of Grey, and even The Hunger Games trilogy, then become blockbuster films.

When I’m asked what I did with my first paycheck, I’ll tell them the truth: I spent money on a new bed for my mother and paying my college bills. I also would pay off my parents’ mortgage, and on top of it, have Habitat for Humanity build my parents a new house in White Marsh. They don’t deserve a house like we have now; they deserve something better.

And for the rest of the money I make, I will buy a new house in Silver Spring, Maryland and travel the world, going to different conventions where writers are present and many science fiction fans wait a little impatiently to get my signature. I’ll be friends with cool writers like Neil Gaiman and Steven Moffat, the ones who wrote Mirror Mask, Stardust, and Doctor Who and Sherlock episodes. I’ll also be invited to awards ceremonies, but much more honorable ones, like the Nebula and the Hugo awards. The dresses I’ll wear may not be designer label, but they will be gorgeous and tailor made. Hell, I might as well start my own web series if I have so much money. Maybe my own half hour sitcom.

And when I get back to the cons I went to when I was a kid, like Balticon, Farpoint, and Shoreleave, I’ll have my own panels talking about being a writer, with my best friend Kerensa with me, and we’ll have a blast.

Yeah, Santa. That’s what I want for Christmas.

No wait! Christmas is over already! Who should I ask now… the Easter Bunny?

I never got to celebrate Valentine’s Day; I have no boyfriend and I spent the night talking to some old and new friends at Farpoint’s Friday night karaoke that night. I probably won’t celebrate St. Patrick’s or Easter because we’ve got nothing special planned and my parents expect me to buy my own corned beef and potatoes and my own chocolate and stuffed animal bunny.

Looks like I’d better learn how to make Burger King crinkle cut fries.

Again, this is another reason why I should kill my dream of being a writer and do more miserable work like everyone else does. Just become another number. But that’s the thing; my dreams are immortal—they just won’t die.

Maybe it’s now or never… to get published. Enough dreaming, time to live.

Playlist selection-

Young the Giant- My Body

The 1975- Pressure

Wicked the musical: Defying Gravity

Idina Menzel: Let it Go (from Frozen)

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