Heroism, adulthood

I'm in the big city (it's about the size of Westwood). The only thing I want is ice cream and I can't remember the goddamn word! It's a form of hell that is ruining my day. I decided to stop in the internet cafe to distract myself.

The other day as I was coming back from basketball a little girl bursts into tears. Usually I avoid approaching and asking what's wrong because the presence of a gigantic, sallow skinned monstrosity can invoke an adrenaline-flight response in children. But this time the cause was obvious, she had lost her goats. There are goats tied to posts everywhere in my town. Sometimes for milk, mostly for eating, their screams sound eerily like the screams of children. These two goats, envigorated by their newfound freedom bounded away from the girl...and towards a group of infants!

I leapt into action, pursued the goats and saved the kids. Though I never got above a jog and in all honesty probably just saved the goats from the merciless cruelty of the stick-wilding children, I still pretended that I was a hero and that was pretty nice for a couple of minutes. I returned the goats to the girl and promptly realized how strange this all was.

And it's stories like these that make my life sound exciting.

My English theatre group is starting, and being in charge of the creativity of a bunch of students is intimidating. I've never done anything like this before, I have no idea what activities would be good or bad, or if I have the confidence to pull it off. I've summoned a professional Photojournalist to my town as well and am responsible for making a training curriculum with him for the students at my school. I feel like I'm masquerading as a responsible adult.