A Car and an Iceberg Away.

By the age of 6 I had already decided what I wanted to be when I grew up. I was gonna live on an iceberg. In a rusty old Volvo. And there I would sit, eating raw fish with my hands. If that for some reason didn’t happen I was going to be a singer with 12 kids.

I guess things don’t always pan out. I don’t own a car and I dislike children, so obviously I have to look into some other options. I’m in school now working on my third degree and this time it’s going to be different. It’s almost like having a new boyfriend. My nursing-degree boyfriend was nice for a while, but turned out to be kind of abusive. My literature-degree boyfriend sucked the joy out of reading, and frankly didn’t bring in the big bucks. So I’m hoping my veterinary medicine boyfriend will make me feel better about myself. I swear he’s not like the others!

I can’t claim that I’ve figured out what I want to be when I grow up, but I’m well on my way in my process of elimination. I certainly don’t want to wipe or kiss people’s behinds for a living, and I don’t want to stay up all night smoking cigarettes, talking about Rimbaud with people in turtlenecks and berets.

So I’m only 30, and I’ve already figured out two things I don’t want to do! I can see why people envy me. And here I sit in my attic room with my obese cat by my feet, listening to the rats run across the roof. But I’m not bitter. If I go to the store right now and buy sushi I’m only a car and an iceberg away from my wildest dreams.

A. Lukjanov

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