I hope this post doesn't sound too pretentious, but here goes. Last night as I lay in my bed, an insomniac succumbing to sleep by force, I realized in full what I eventually want to become in life. 

A civil rights environmentalist who documents everything by photo. That's how I'll get by - taking photos of everything. Eventually I'll begin to see the other side of journalism by writing, but only until I come to grow somewhat content with my photography. My literary journalism is flexible - it can range from politics to fashion, as I have interest in both. But I'll only begin literary journalism with one condition; my language is the polar opposite of conventional journalistic diction. I'd rather write with descriptive poetic language. Well, not entirely poetic but more so than generic journalism nowadays. This would obviously take some sort of credentials in the journalism world since it would be the first of it's kind for some time now. If all that ends up being successful, I'd eventually switch from being a full time photojournalist to juggling both simultaneously, while still playing a part in civil rights. After a while I would slowly distance myself from all three as I adopted or had a child with someone I loved. Or something. I would take care of this child and when I found the time span that has passed suitable enough I would begin to write my first and only novel. When (and if) that gets published, I would have a second child. Possibly a third. At this time I would devote myself entirely to my children, but still somewhat manage to do some journalism (both photo and literary) on the side. 

Note #1: My hobbies throughout my life would include painting, sketching, and collecting mass amounts of vinyl.

Note #2: Even though it hasn't been mentioned, fashion would fit in somewhere and have a major influence on it all, like grains of salt and pepper, the condiments to my life.

To be honest, this is one of many, many lives I wish to live out. Basically for the past several weeks I've felt like Esther Greenwood (essentially Sylvia Plath if you really think about it) trying to pick all of the figs from the tree but due to hesitation and selfishness they all fall sheepishly to the ground.

This is an excerpt from a poem entitled Let it be.

Don't let the light fall on the ever sheer life of war;

weep and you will have wept,

see and you will have seen,

be and you will remain to be

however long your days will last.

Dress, H&M. Tights, homemade.