The Universe Isn’t Kind To Dreamers

fight11:30 in the middle of the night and I’m screaming across the road at some guy.

Okay, the guy was my boyfriend who I never scream at. In fact, I hardly ever scream at all, it’s like I was born with an extra “chill” chromosome. Nothing fazes me, you could throw a slipper at me with a letter attached to it conveying a stream of profanities and I’d probably ask you to throw me the other slipper so my feet don’t get cold.

But at 11:30 on a Tuesday I found myself screaming, which alarmed both myself and my S.O, who had never actually seen me show an emotion other than typewriter1“happy” and “chilled”. I don’t feel bad about my outburst however, because he was yelling back, but I am a little disappointed to say that the entire debacle looked like a trashy fight scene in “Big Brother” or “Geordie Shore”. Neither shows are on my list of desired realities, but I guess every stupid University student gets lower class at some point in their studies.

I’ve reached the point in my studies (and my relationship) where the entire concept of “future” scares the pants off of me. S.O is unemployed, musical and the biggest dreamer I have ever met. Half of the surprises he’s promised me have yet to happen as they’re too wild to pull off on time, the other half are ideas he still has to put into action. It’s what I love about him though, I am surprisingly practical and straightforward, I put a situation through hypothetical and very possible occurrences before I do anything about it and due to a parental divorce situation out of control I have been forced from a very young age to be cautious and practical about money/safety/the future.

There’s that word again “future”, I get a tingle down my spine every time I have to type it: future, future, future. Oooh, I can’t take it.

S.O doesn’t think like I do. Of course he’s worried about getting a job or finding something to study, the man’s going out musicof his mind not having anything to do, but South Africa’s BEE complex and the fact that there’s not a lot of realistic opportunities out there for a 21 year old multi-talented musician does not make the situation look very dandy. He’s sure that the universe will provide, I’m planning on blackmailing and holding the universe ransom if it doesn’t “provide” in a week.

S.O’s situation has me in a bit of an frantic slump. My degree is, in the opinion of the world, pointless. Bachelor of Arts, majoring in English and History; what the hell is a person supposed to do with that?! I have no interest in teaching, no desire to spend my life pouring over old tomes, the only thing I want to do is write. And write and write and write and write and write until my fingers bleed ink and my clothes are made predominantly of scrap pieces of paper.

How is the universe supposed to provide for a zealous musician and a confused writer? Writers and musicians should logically be dating accountants and investors so as to have a little economic security in their lives. So the writer got pissed with the musician and told him he had to get off his bum and find a job ASAP, then the musician got defensive and told the writer he’s been doing everything he could and if the writer wants someone boring and unhappy then the writer should find someone else, and then they both yelled a lot and things got dramatic and weird.

But the writer doesn’t want anyone else. The writer needs a dreamer so she can be pulled off thetypewriter ground a little bit and the musician needs a bit of logic to stop him from floating away.

I want to write, he wants to sing, we both want to love each other for quite a while. We’re both scared, we’re both uncertain, we’re both under-appreciated by everyone but our moms, we both don’t want to have a trashy street-fight ever again.

We’re running on luck and hard work and the faith that our talents aren’t just dead ends and someday we might run out of our luck and someday we might give up on the talents we know we have and there might not be a someday someday.

But the universe provides right?


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