What a Difference a bit of Sleep Made

Well, I got home after a hard day at work. It was a really hard day at work, realizing where my life would go. I had a weird foreboding and a funny flashback about my mother’s pretenses and her false hope stuff. I still can’t get the whole thing at the parochial school out of my mind. For one, if I am rich, I’m not sending my kids to a dopey private school. I don’t like private schools, I don’t care how much affluence I have, I’m not sending the kids to private schools. I don’t want them to necessarily live the “good life”: nannies, mansions, cook, maid, and butler waiting on them all the time hand and foot. I really don’t care. Blake Shelton, Miranda Lambert, and all those famous sons and daughters of you know whats can have their riches, but at a cost. Their power is at a cost. I’m sorry, but I’m sure that Blake Shelton will never want to see a blind person, and if he doesn’t care about folks with disabilities, well, if Usher and Gwenn and them don’t either, I’m done. I’m not auditioning especially in front of celebrity brats. I don’t like them very much at all. Oh, and dressing to impress? Give me a break! Do I have to wear a dress that costs me a thousand bucks just to get noticed? Shoot, I am not going to do something like that if it costs me half my paycheck. I need to pay bills. I’m sorry, but the bills have to be paid. Yuck, I hate bills. And Beyonce can dance all she wants, but she is never gonna impress me. I met N Sync, but Justin Timberlake’s lyrics have gone inappropriate. Joey Fatone Jr. is a good man, a real good guy. I liked his dad, who offered me the tickets to see N Sync so many years ago when they were practically the world’s biggest boy band. My parents think I’m entitling myself to stuff, and they treated me like scum. Yes, I hate writing this at a time when the jitters have gone nuts at work. I’m done trying to be kind to everybody, even my own family. I don’t want Florida news, and I certainly don’t care. Yeah, I follow WESH on Twitter, and they’re cool. I don’t mind if WESH digs in and says the weirdest stuff about me, and that’s because I used to watch them all the time with Mom all the time every day. Ellen would come on at four EDT or EST. Of course, if I earn enough money, I might have tot hink about estate planning, and hopefully I will be the sole executor of my estate. That’s all I want. I am not going to deal with guardianship, and I’m in the process of getting rid of it. I have to do it through radical means, and yes, parents be warned. You do anything to crush my dreams, and you’re gone. No threats, just promises. I won’t speak to someone who crushes dreams, who says I’m not as good as Britney or Christina. As much as I think Miss Aguilera has matured from the slutty weird self she was, I don’t think she deserves any more attention. Why is it when I log on to MSN dot com at Bayaud, I don’t see any good news, except for one measly story about two wheelchair-bound people who go to prom in a fire truck? Everything else is stupid top news that nobody wants to hear: politics and fights and arguments, Congress being stupid and making corporations in to people, Kim and Kanye–I wish they would both stop and think about what I am doing at the moment–and their stupid wedding, Donald Sterling who has Dementia, etc etc. I want to hear some good news. Maybe I am the good news they’re looking for. Maybe I am the chosen one. I hope I am chosen to sing, and I want to show Blake Tucker, my one true lover, that I will see him again. Yes, this is not where it ends, Carrie Underwood, do you hear me out? I will carry him with me, no matter where I go. Trust me, Blake Tucker, all the guilty pleasures I’d want, I’d want you. I’d want someone common, who understands my fate. I want to change my life’s course, and I hope Matthew Orts doesn’t get this. HE might not, and maybe he needs training. What if Matt and I were a rivalry? What if he did something weird and we were the two people left on the Voice? So what if I’m second best? The American people don’t want disabled folks on their shows, and someone with a Guardianship on their heads? I don’t think so. My parents should not need to give me their approval. I want my life, and I want it now. Dear Mr. Shelton, if you’re reading this, this is dedicated to you and your friends on the Voice. Be warned: I’m not the most impressive girl on Earth. I’m a singer, and I will sing my heart out till I’m accepted. If this is the only way to get me noticed, to get me the heck out of this stupid studio apartment, this is what it will take. Mr. Shelton, you are not the man of my dreams, but I am counting on you and your friends to accept me for who I am, my singing and all the good things I can offer. I will be in it to win it. No gossip required.

Author: denverqueen

My name is Beth. I'm blind from birth and enjoy the blogging atmosphere. I am a creative person, a musician, a writer, etc. This is me. Take it or leave it.

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