Waiting For Ambition.

I often wonder what it’s like to have drive.

I often see people hurry hither and, yes-sometimes, thither and I wonder what the urge that pulsates through them must feel like.

I mean, I never even been thither. ‘Thither’ is like my ‘B’- I just never made it there; preferring to stay hanging around with ‘A’ and wondering what the world of ‘Z’ must be like.

And then I realise I’m getting a little weird and take a step back so at to continue watching people departing from their relative ‘hither’ and making their way, where-ever, with purpose.

Now, I know, partly because I’ve been told- which I always enjoy (I do love a nice compliment)- and partly because I just happen to have noticed, that I am talented. Very talented, regrettably obviously, whilst also preferably contemporary. Now that was a fucking confusing statement, largely because I wanted it to be, but also to help describe the base point that I hope I become something with which my charms are applicable on their own merit, rather than being accompanied by my youthful good-looks. Well, I’ve been told I have beautiful hands.

I have a distinct feeling that I am perpetually going to earn the same amount annually as the average female. That’s not a dig at females, bless ’em, but is rather a note of social status in the culture we live in. I would consider, and I know others will agree, that should I earn less than the average female annually- then I am a relative failure. A pity that the equivalency is true, but personally I find the idea of myself ‘failing’ to be far more troubling.

However, the only thing, the one teeny-tiny-and-titchy thing, getting between me and the roads of the right direction is ambition. Here I am, and here I wait for myself. Waiting for ambition.

All the tools (I’m even upper-middle class!) and I appear to be 23 and relatively little else.

I suppose I’m going to have to start taking this blog seriously. I have a talent for words and humour, and so will be dedicating them to you…the public. The private, as well, will also be enjoying what I have to offer, although for them there may be a curtain involved. Velvet, if possible.

By the way, have you ever realised that, along with advertisements, song lyrics are telling you what to do- typically without even uttering a ‘please’ before hand. The only suggestion I can think of, and this is growing on me like some delightful tumour of creative inappropriateness, is to have the word ‘please’ ushered in prior to the recording of all songs and at the beginning of all live performances.

I would like that- to have the word ‘please’ to be just a little more ubiquitous, like we all deserve.

It might become a national trait.

“I could tell he was English…he said please before he waved at me”- said a foreigner.

It is obvious now that my ambition has arrived, and must now be adventured upon, though perhaps in the morning is better.

For now, all there is to say is…please.

Sam.