Dreams and armour
March 05, 2013 - 9:14 p.m.

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I wish I was really extraordinary at something.

Something. Anything.

Except maybe killing puppies.

That would not be a great thing to be extraordinary at.

I was thinking the other day...in this world of growing population, fast communication, short attention spans, a person can no longer be great at something and be ackowledged and admired for it.

One can no longer be one in a thousand, or one in ten thousand, but has to be one in a million. One in ten million.

One in a billion.

To be told that you are exceptional, and to achieve anything less than one in a million, feels like a failure.

I feel like a failure.

Secretly, I pull my old classmates around myself. The ones with the same dreams as me, the ones that didn't make it. I layer them on me like armour, to ward off the demons.

I don't tell them, of course. I couldn't bear if they told me they no longer cared to work in the theatre, to achieve the things that I've been achieving.

I don't even know what I want anymore.

.

Rosie.

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