Professions and fear

I've always known trumpeters to walk with a swagger. It's their trademark. Give me a thousand people, let me see them walk and I will pick up the only trumpeter. I can also smell a woman who thinks her life revolves around her concert mistress' chair from 20 miles off. She lives for the chair, and she'll die in that chair. Sopranos? They're the easiest. Prima donna behaviour, the walk, the talk, then they don't even sing in a general rehearsal because, as they say, they're saving it for the grand night. It's all bullshit actually, but very much accepted behaviour. Teachers? Oh good Lord, I smell them three thousand miles off. They always think they know better, their profession is one big power trip. And yes I teach too, but I'm not like that. Really, honestly. I actually have not yet decided what my profession is, and it's about time I do. My purpose in life. I don't even know that. So what makes me stay. Well, it's a twin brother who makes me stay. A twin brother who doesn't cope very well with sadness. It's my cats, my dogs who (not which no) would be very disturbed if mummy wasn't there. They eat from nobody's hands, not even if they're ravenous. It's got to be mummy and nobody else. But other professions? They're as diverse as daisies. Only daisies are somewhat pretty. Maybe I should have stuck to the daisies, but I guess I got too bored. I wanted more, and just went straight into the jungle. Strangely enough I was fearless then. Not now. Now the fear is as real as this laptop I'm typing into. One look sends me reeling into the fear ball. There's no daisies. I get jumpy and jerky. And I'm 36, I should know better. But I don't.