I've mentioned in this blog several occasions where I thought I was having a stroke. So I'm not sure if the title of this entry necessarily negates my predicted life expectancy or if it is representative of my massive hypochondria. Either way I think it reflects an inner dialogue I've been having for a while now, 'what should I do with my life?'
And apparently I'm not the only one, there are millions of other twenty something's fearing the reaper, frightened they are wasting their lives. I read an article recently claiming people are having their mid-life crisis earlier. Soon kids will be breaking down during circle time contemplating whether to get a 'fixed rate', 'variable' or 'tracker' mortgage when they leave primary school. Not that I am thinking about mortgages - thanks to Wikipedia for mortgage types - no, no, no, my quarter life crisis runs more along the lines of 'do I want to be an International Film, or Rock star?' At least with old age I am starting to become a little more realistic, I no longer believe I'm going to play for Scotland - just manage them.
So what should I do with my life? I've had a few ideas.
1) Start a Business.
I like this idea because I would get to 'be my own boss'. The biggest issue however would be that I would 'be my own boss'. Aside from the fact my boss has no obvious talent, drive, or ambition, he is, on the whole, a bit of a wanker. Also the only busines ideas I have tend to involve chip shops, tanning salons and public houses - all of which are pretty plentiful in the part of the world I inhabit.
2) Devise an innovative, exciting product I could display on Dragons Den.
The only issue I can envisage with this is the fact I would need to find a business partner to work the Thunder Machine.
3) Write a Children's Book.
I started writing a Children's Book, however my fondness for bad language and scenes of a violent and sexual nature mean it's now just, a 'book'.
4) Pursue a career in comedy.
If I do decide to follow this line of work, and you see me in a years time, please remember it's just a pound I'm asking for.
My dream job when I was in primary school was to write songs for Bon Jovi - after listening to 'Thank You for Loving Me' I feel I may have grown out of the role. My brother was always been a little more realistic, when he was young he wanted to be a minister, a PE teaching Minister who played football professionally. He had the three professions at the top of the sex offenders list well covered.
I'm jealous of people who know exactly what they want from life, who have vision, ambition and drive from an early age. Aside from penning power ballads for Bon Jovi I've never really know what I wanted to do. I had a brief spell where I wanted to be a vet. My mum told me that the fact that I ran away from wasps, and was scared of almost ever creature I encountered meant this career choice was unlikely to work out. In hindsight I think it was an easier way for her to get me off the vet idea without having to just come out and say I wasn't clever enough.
It obviously isn't necessarily a 'crisis' to have thoughts of self-improvement, I just need to remind myself I'm the king of procrastination. My dream is to do very little and get paid lots for doing it - so naturally I've applied to FIFA. And like any good SNP manifesto, all these well-meaning ideas will ultimately result in a return to the comfortable status quo with a distinct lack of Independence.
I never used to be this bitter and pessimistic, there was a time when the glass was half full - although a glass can never actually be half empty, the 'empty' glass is comprised of 50% water and 50% air meaning it is never truly empty - I used to have lots of unique ideas when I was younger.
'You Won't Go Back Once You've Been Smacked'. That was the tag line, I even devised an advertising campaign for my aftershave where attractive male models tried to score 'Smack' off their dealers.
This is actually the culmination of two ideas. I've been thinking that perhaps lockets would be a more suitable flavour of condom considering they start off hard boiled then go all gooey after you've sooked them for a while.
'Vigrin Condom's' makes sense, they do everything else. I was on a train recently and was flicking through a Virgin Holiday brochure, I noticed in the brochure the Kids holiday club was called 'V-Kids Club' and I wondered why isn't it called 'Virgin Kids Club?' But then I suppose that would attract a completely different type of traveller.
Why is it only Communists Dictators should enjoy such luxury..? It's time see-through coffins hit the mainstream.
They probably already have these in Japan. Finally you can enjoy urinating in the shower guilt free. I'm currently working on a version for girls.
The entrepreneurial spirit was knocked out of me for good during an unfortunate incident involving a chip shop in secondary school. I have been victim of a number of injustices in my time - I was told I couldn't play the bagpipes in primary school purely because there wasn't enough of them, the music teacher then proceeded to throw a chair at me when I complained, true story - but this particular incident has left me as emotionally scarred as actually eating from the chip shop in question would.
A new chippy opening comprises a fairly significant event in Dingwall, so in an attempt to ensure the students of Dingwall Academy were aware of the opening of the new culinary centre of their universe students were challenged to come up with a name for the new chip shop. Whoever could come up with the best name would win £100 in vouchers, get the first fish supper served in the shop for free, and get their name and photo in the paper. Not bad. Since my 1999 'Shinty Player of the Year' accolade - an award kept within my family from 1996 to 2000, the only blip being 1997, the year my brother was eligible to win -I had experienced a bit of dry run on the success front. I put my creative brain cells to good work and came up with a name I thought was pretty snappy and original with a good chance of winning.
Now I'm not suggesting I should have won the competition - I should have won the competition - but being forced to watch my best mate being paraded at assemblies and buying a new golf bag with his winnings was tough take, considering his pathetic effort.
Mr Fish is a bigger injustice than O'Bamma winning the Nobel peace prize for 'writing a book'. I'd have happily buried my pal in a see-through coffin after Fishgate.
I'll admit that see-through coffins are unlikely to be snapped up by the mourning masses, and Duncan Banatyne is probably not interested in investing in Shower Urinals or 'Smack' Aftershave - I've yet to hear back from Richard Branson regarding the Virgin Condoms. Still, it all seems more likely than actually landing a full-time, permanent position in this current economic climate. So maybe I will end up being an International Superstar.....I think I can smell toast burning.