Yesterday I spent the majority of my day on Google Earth, street viewing New York City avenues, wondering where the pixelated people are running to. I have never been to the Big Apple but there is something about it that makes my heart skip a beat, like it is calling to me, like I need to be there, running down the street in heels with a rolled up paper under one arm and my tote in the other.
I have also been watching quite a lot of ER recently and feel as though I should have been a Doctor. I’m not much of a caring person and generally believe everyone claiming to be sick is simply suffering from a severe case of hypochondria. But it all looks so exciting, fast paced, everyone running around with something important to do. I bet they don’t get home from work and watch three back to back episodes of Casualty before putting the dinner on and going to bed, only to do it all over again the next day.
Before ER I watched the last series of Secret Diary of a Call Girl, I also thought this was a definite career option. I am emotionally void after all, frequenting various swanky hotel rooms for bundles of rolled up fifties could potentially be the answer to all of my problems. Only, I can’t apply fake eyelashes and I’m not the most glamorous person in the world. I’d probably end up on a street corner offering sexual favours in exchange for a Big Mac… Maybe not.
No, on closer inspection I don’t think I’d make a very good prostitute or doctor, when you think about it the two are actually quite similar. I suppose I will simply have to move to New York and live a fabulous lifestyle there instead. Or go back to Somerset, move back in with Mother and get a third cat. Decisions, decisions…