When I was little, I wanted to be a fireman. I was terrified of fire.
Then I wanted to be a nurse, and I was terrified of blood, sick and any other bodily expulsion.
For a long time I wanted to be a popstar, I loved singing in the shower, I thought X Factor was my calling, and fame and fortune seemed to be the way to get everything you longed for.
Once I started to mature a little, I moved towards law, or journalism – serious subjects for a girl who wanted to impress her parents. I studied English at university simply because I didn’t know what I wanted to do – giving myself time find new dream.
Now, I still don’t really know. There are pipe dreams, ideas that float around my head. I’d love to be a novelist – so many stories swim around my brain all day long, I just don’t know if I have the discipline to see them through.
I’d love to sing in the West End – screech Defying Gravity with the greats and put audiences in tears with my rendition of I Dreamed A Dream.
I’d like to make a difference to the world – not so much in a fame and fortune kind of way, but in a way that actually makes people happier. I don’t need an ass the size of Canada (I’ve got one anyway, I just don’t want to be famous for it) or lips that make me look like a duck-billed platypus. I don’t need to be popped in my pyjamas getting the milk off the doorstep. But I do want to feel like my existence makes other people’s better. I just don’t know how to get there. I couldn’t be a politician – I’m not built to be disliked by that many people. If we thought I had anxiety issues to begin with, that would just top it all off…
So my dream job isn’t so much a dream job, but a dream idea. Unless I can be Emma Stone, then that’s definitely my dream job.