The Plague Doctor

I am now eighteen years old, but some days I feel like I am secretly thirty and was tossed into a younger person's body by mistake. (Or as a joke. I am starting to think it might have been a very cruel joke.) I get very depressed whenever I think about the direction my generation is heading. I try to be an optimist but it doesn't work out well for me.

I write quite frequently, but most of my stories end up unfinished because my life gets in the way or because I have the attention span of a young cocker spaniel. I get many good ideas but I don't know how to implement them. I like to think I'll grow up to be a novelist, but I also want to be a photojournalist. My dream is to be published in National Geographic, but isn't that a goal for everyone these days? Hmm. I'm not into writing for the money, I'm in it because otherwise I'd explode from all my thoughts and feelings that I can't let out otherwise. I try not to angst about it too much.

When I get older, I think I'd like to mellow out a bit more. As it is, I'm much too spastic.