They say talking to your pets means you're not mentally healthy, but what if you sell them something?

Today, I sold my dog an affordable vacation to Washington D.C., including hotel and airfare. Does this mean Misty's lost it? Maybe. But I did it beause I've just realized that I have no idea what I would like to be whn I grow up, so I've decided to act out different occupations. I got some old briefcases and papers of my mom's, and Tallie (my dog) as my client. I've already talked to her about her puppy's performance in the second grade at a dog-teacher conference. This time, I tried being a saleswoman, selling vacations. Organizing the hotel an airfare was somewhat fun, but I don't see much of a future for me in that. Tomorrow, I'm going to try being a lawyer. Tallie is the defendant, I her lawyer, and it is The Case Of The Missing Cheesy Puff. I need to set up evidence first, like a trail of cheese and such. This should be fun. In relation to the same case, the day after tomorrow I will be a forensic investigator, with my CSI chemical testing lab. I got it a couple of Christmases ago, but honestly, it looked too complicated to be bothered with "just for fun". Now, I actually have a reason to use it! I think I'll save "doctor" for Thursday or Friday.
And another thing I realized? Fourteen is an awful age to be. Well, fourteen and a couple of surrounding years. We're old enough to be interested in the opposite gender, but too young for our parents to be fine with us dating. So what the heck are we supposed to do now? Also, we're too young to be in most places without an adult, although we're old enough to have gained the independent teenager spirit. At this age, we try and try to think for ourselves, but we're restricted because this age is considered "too young". It hardly makes sense.
Hm. I would like to try something called...
A Moment In Time: 11:00-Art Room-School
I lean in closer to my drawing, my sunburned nose nearly touching my too-clean, too-white paper. It needs some color, some imagination. The assignment is to create the shop of your dreams, and mine contains a machine that can make books come to life, or rather, place humans inside of one, the words becoming reality. Then contact lenses that continuously change color, from blue to purple to red to-
I feel a soft tap on my shoulder, and know that it must be Moo (a nickname for one of Strawberry's very first crushes), because he is the only person I know of who is old-fashioned enough to tap on my shoulder instead of simply calling my name. Also, he sits right behind me. I turn my head half an inch to the right, giving a non-commital "Hmmm?"
"Wicked, measure 40"
In band, our favorite piece of music is a collection of songs from the Broadway musical Wicked, and it is especially a favorite of Moo's, who sits two seats from me in band. He repeats his request to Leo, who sits to his right and plays the trumpet (I play bass clarinet, Moo plays tenor saxophone) and right there, in the middle of art class, we begin humming our parts in unison, the different rhythms and notes blending into a complex, intense melody.
I don't know what it was, being in our own little bubble in art class, music and the arts, but that moment made me simply happy, like coming home after hiking through a blizzard to a roaring fireplace and hot cocoa. Home at school.
Oh, were you reading this, waiting for something exciting to happen? Sorry to have diappointed, but if you don't see the point to this, make your own three person band in the middle of art class and then my happiness will make sense. Go on. Nothing to lose.