Be Careful What You Wish For…

I just assumed it would all come true.

I was destined for bigger things.

I was so sure I was.

I believed in it so deeply; that while I waited for ‘it’ to happen, life became grey and dull.

Whatever ‘it’ was, I wouldn’t need to try at all, as I was just so sure, it would be thrust upon me.

It would find me.

It being ‘the greatness.’

One day I would wake up and all of my wishes, dreams and desires would have come true.

I would lie flat on my back in my single bed on those long lonely nights, listening to crappy 90’s music and imagining myself in to a life where I wasn’t miserable, wasn’t lonely, bullied, forgotten, but was stood waiting to perform in front of crowds filled with millions of people.

They would all be screaming and chanting my name in fevered excitement that they were about to enjoy my company, and I, of course would be slimmer than a stick insect, with massive hair, huge sunglasses and obviously acting as cool as a cucumber.

‘Yes’ I would smile in my imaginary life ‘I have made it.’

Every dream was different. (But I was always as shallow…)

I was going to change the world with my singing voice, with my dancing, or even possibly with my intelligence, (it was MY DREAM ok?) or maybe with my immense knowledge of all things 90210 and Melrose Place related, and of course I would never ever look back. (Unless it was for a fabulous photo shoot image.)

My name was going to be remembered throughout the sands of time, and I would be happy and rich.

When my time in the spotlight was up, after I had, had a slow movie montage of my life played to me while Take That sang Never Forget live! And everybody clapped and told me I should be knighted for my services to Fashion/Singing/Wearing sunglasses, I would immediately become like a mother Teresa type figure but with better outfits (and with no issues with gay marriage.)

I may even win a Nobel prize for being fabulous.

The fact I have always been unable to so much as hum, without forcing previously perfectly healthy blackbirds to come over all suicidal and fly headfirst at 40mph in to a brick wall, and mostly when I dance people end up calling the paramedics as they assume I am having some sort of epileptic fit, was besides the point.

In my dream world, everything would be different.

By the time I was 30 I would be a superstar… at something, and all of my dreams would have come true.

I remember all of this, as last week I was cleaning out schoolbooks and diaries and basically, crap, from all those years ago when I was a teenager, and I came across a diary entitled ‘Dream book.’

(I also came across my old school shirt with all the sixth form leaving signatures on it. Why did everybody draw willies at that age? My school shirt is peppered with balls and odd shaped ballooning cocks with smiley faces. Was there really any need?)

(To lexy, I will miss you, here is a smiley knob and hairy balls to remember me by… Laura.. xxx) 

It was filled to the brim with utter bollocks. (The dream book AND shirt.)

But it made me smile, because at the time, writing that utter bobbins in that dream book was how I carried on.

I was dreaming of how I thought my life would go.

It was those dreams that made me get out of bed in the morning.

I was 16.

As I tipped open one of the diaries, I was thrust immediately in to a melancholy moment, when on my lap an envelope, fell. (See, I’ve even slipped in to melancholy prose…)

I knew instantly what was in it.

At the time, the way I saw it, geography IGcse could just bore off because I was destined for bigger things.

While my classmates learned about cloud formations and how to recognise a Small Crack from a Gaping Crevice (which actually, may be a good title for a book I am writing on the after effects of labour) on field trips, I searched for four leaf clovers and stars to wish on.

(10 grand a year on private school fees well spent then, yeah dad?)

From Inside the envelope, as I opened it, with my fat fingers trembling, out fell, wrapped in tissue and sealed with a note, a four-leaved clover.

My wish, the wish I made 18 years ago at the age of 15, was written in bold pink ink.

‘I wish to never be normal.’

I probably should have been more specific.


4 Comments on “Be Careful What You Wish For…

  1. This is a lovely post to read and I started reminiscing along with you. I have very little of my childhood stuff left although I did find one diary full of endless confusion about boys (various boys I should add). Nothing much on my understanding of men has changed since those day I hasten to add. I still dream of being a singer commanding the O2 arena. The fact that my voice has been robbed by nodules is a minor inconvenience to the reality of this dream.

    I wouldn’t worry about not being “normal” (whatever that is).You wouldn’t have anything as interesting to write about it you were, although life might be a bit more simple at times. You have achieved greatness in this blog and should be proud of that.

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