Life...and the fact that I only have one shot at it...

So I'm currently chomping my way through endless packets of parma violets whilst contemplating my future (the room is purple, the bed I'm sitting on is comfy beyond belief, The Ramones are blaring through my stereo and I think my boyfriend just sent me a text).

I had my first of two course briefings today. This one was for the creative writing part of my degree and I've another on thursday concerning english literature.
To be honest I'm a little confused about everything at the moment (what else is new on planet Shell?). See, thing is, I've never been sure of what I've wanted to do with my life and it's just dawned on me that, in the space of three years, I've made a bunch of decisions without really thinking about them.
This is more with the second year than the first, because second year gave a bit more freedom, but I went in a picked a bunch of modules to put me on a pathway to something I actually didn't even want to do. Thing is, family and friends always used to go on about how they know I'd be published one day and that they'd be out to buy my novels. I've had three partners tell me how great they think my novels would be...my mum can't wait read one either. Novel novel novel...fact is that I have never had that in my head. I've never pictured me having a 30 chapter book about the ups and downs of some kind of person who does this and that...8 point story arch etc...It got put into my head a few years back and, since then, that's what I pushed myself toward. The modules I've picked have all been for that one final outcome and it's not even the outcome I actually want.
Found this out during my briefing today whilst looking at the modules I can't take because I lack the prerequisite number of credits in the subject to do so. I can kiss nonfiction modules goodbye, because I only have 10 credits in it and not 20 like they want, even though I'm really interested in them.
I just can't seem to escape Developing the Novel now and I'm almost 100% sure that it's not what I want. I like working on a smaller scale, so I'm thinking of taking Fiction and innovative form, but with my stupid limited options I'll still have to take at least 30 credits of the novel thing anyway.
It's something I'm going to go and see my personal tutor about. I feel ever so slightly trapped.
As for english lit...I'm going to take Women Writers with either Subversive Children's Literature or C20th Dystopian Fiction (even if it does mean having to put up with Martain Priestman again).
I can't believe how much of my life I've managed to decide over such a short period of time. We spend every minute of every hour of every day trying to figure ourselves out, yet here a bunch of us are deciding our fate and paying for the pain of it. Because of the pathway I've stupidly choisen, I'm now to be a novelist or a short fiction writer...what the fuck happened to freedom? I'll say it again, I'm trapped and it's my passion for writing and reading that as done it.

Chewing helps you concentrate. I'm now off of the violets and on to the gum.
The room is still purple, my back aches from leaning against the wall, my CD finsihed and that text was my boyfriend just saying goodnight.
It'll be a lot more gum, many more CDs and possibly many snappy texts to my daring before I'll be able to get my head straight about all this.
I'm actually wishing I could go back to being about 13...when none of this shit mattered and I was more concerned about my jeans and what to munch from the fridge rather than how to earn the money to pay for jeans and stuff in the fridge once I was a grown up.



What was the point in giving you weird details about what's going on in my room?
There was no point. Was just capturing the moment.