A Million Ways

I had a dream last night, which I won't call a nightmare because I don't always feel the need to exaggerate: my mother kept trying to convince me that Invocal were never making anymore music and that I should pack away all my Invocal merchandise and find a new favourite band. While the first part of this (that Invocal may not produce any more music) might very well turn out to be true- they haven't recorded any new songs since my second year of uni, after all- this still made me extremely upset; probably because I knew it was a distinct possibility. I spent the day listening to Invocal to cheer myself up, and thought more on the deeper meaning of the dream, because I am just the sort of person who believes that every single thing their subconscious does not only has meaning but is also important, beautifully symbolic and pertinent: I've been applying for jobs to begin after I finish uni in May, a concept which utterly terrifies me. Quite understandably, it's been my parents who've been pushing me to do this, after all, they're the ones who'll have to live with me if I don't find employment. Do you see where I'm going with this? A fun, cultural, formative and deeply personal thing- Invocal/my time at uni- is coming to an end, and so I must put away childhood things and focus on new pursuits. In the dream, I thought my mother was being brutal and totalitarian, but in reality I completely see her point of view, and, what's more, I don't want to live with my parents: I want to go somewhere new, make new friends, try new things and not be in fucking Shropshire. But, even more, I want Invocal to make more music.
Please?

In the process of applying for jobs referenced to above, I have been sending out a CV and, occasionally, a photo (one ad specified a 'smiley' photo, to wean out those damn anhedonics). This the photo that I've elected to use:

This was taken by Daniel Harris, for the production of Spring Awakening that I was in. If you know me personally, you'll know that my face is not normally so...nice; I made the mistake of watching Daniel photoshop my face afterwards. It was odd, watching the blemishes and imperfections that make up the majority of my visage be wiped away to leave a landscape only dominated by those features that society deems fashionable, like an avalance of unpockmarked skin. I recognised the face that was left, obviously, but it wasn't quite me. It was a tiny bit sci-fi, if I'm honest.
I equate that experience with writing my CV: wiping away all the blemishes- the times when you weren't working, the jobs you applied for but didn't get, the areas you think you're not so strong in- leaving behind only a supremely capable and experienced individual who is totally, utterly confident and not afraid to show it. Yet again, you know the things being written are your own achievements- they do come from you- but the picture feels slighly incomplete without the pimples and freckles of self-doubt to weigh them out. It's you, yet not. I guess you could say that it's the ultimate version of you- the best you can be, but I find that idea kind of sad- like the experiences which taught me lessons (which are, as wisdom dictates, the ones where I made mistakes) have no value. I think that's kind of prudish, to be honest.