Fred is twenty-three years old. Her full name is Winifred Wilson, it’s Fred’s life’s mission for no one to discover that she sport’s a name that belongs in an 18th century children’s novel, consequently her choice of nickname ‘Fred’ not ‘Winnie’. She has no desire to have any sort of affinity with a small yellow bear named ‘Pooh’.
Fred has no job, no home, and spends the bulk of her spare time drawing strange abstract cartoons which she assumes no one will ever want to see. The subjects of her drawings are talking musical instruments, her favourite character is ‘Melody the melan-cello’ (instead of melancholy). She finds she relates to the character, and not only because any word with the ending ‘-cello’ makes her think of a citrusy Italian alcoholic beverage.
Recently, Fred has been attempting to answer the BIG question, ‘what is wrong with her?’ but after six months of contemplation she’s still no closer to an answer.
She does recognise the fallibility of her own actions, that everything she tries she never quite manages to complete. And she considers herself, ashamedly, quite a selfish person.
Fred’s friends, after all, remained at university until they finished their degree and graduated; they didn’t withdraw and quit after one term. Fred’s friends find jobs and keep them, they don’t quit the first instance they feel overwhelmed. Fred’s friends have made calculations within their steady income to ensure that can repay the money they owe the government for their education; they haven’t hidden or burned the letters in an attempt to pretend the debt doesn’t exist.
And perhaps most important of all, Fred’s friends make their parents proud; they don’t make it so that their parents happen to be ‘out’ whenever they call despite owning a portable mobile phone, just to avoid to inevitable awkward silence after the question, ‘what are you doing at the moment?’.
Essentially, Fred feels shit. And she doesn’t quite know how not to…yet.
The Life Of A Fred. 