“The sleep is still in my eyes, the dream is still in my head
I breathe a sigh, and sadly smile, and lie awhile in bed
I wish that it might come to pass, not fade like all my dreams
Just think of what my life might be in a world like I have seen!”—Rush, 2112
I just finished the 1200-ish paged Storm of Swords. Once I got past about 500, I bought a couple other books and told myself, oh, no problem, I’ll just finish this first and then move on. But I also have to work on the Wheel of Time series…
It just all piled up.
So much happened in A Storm of Swords! So many people died — main characters, too! Unfortunately, Catelyn was somehow brought to life at the end. She’s so whiny. But still, it just makes me want to read A Feast for Crows that much sooner. I just have so many other books to get through…
God. I think this is the first time I’ve actually been stressed out about reading.
My life right now is a crucial buildup to it, but there are just so many things I’m interested in. CIA is tempting, factoring in my lingual skills and fondness for things that go boom, but…well, I feel like an idiot for considering it. That kind of stuff is for movies and Tom Clancy novels, y’know? Law enforcement is interesting as well, though I don’t think cops are paid very well?
My parents are encouraging me to become a dermatologist, with what I guess is a sound plan. But that doesn’t sound exciting at all. Devote the best years of my life to studying so I can be rich later. It sounds like signing my soul over to the devil. I bet I’ll appreciate it later, but I want to live a little, too.
Honestly, though? My dream job would have to be a story writer for a Bioware-esque video game company. My two loves in one. Not gonna happen, but a girl can dream, can’t she?
Look, I’m not a narcisstic person. I don’t spend my time thinking about all my good qualities and how much better I am than others…unless, you know, I see some gorgeous blonde walk by and my self esteem takes a critical hit. I’m lazy, I’m cynical, and should probably be taking a more active interest in my social life. But you know what? I’ve come to believe that in independence lies strength. If you can’t get through something alone, how are you going to get through it the next time? I love my friends, but I can’t expect them to come running every time I stub my toe. I don’t want to. You don’t get through life by your friends. You carry your own weight, because at the end of the day, it’s your life you’re living, not theirs — your achievements. Strength comes from within. It requires confidence and faith. It’s a personal battle, one you have to fight yourself. It’s not fun to admit, but there are times when I wonder if I’m truly strong. I worry I’m brittle, like ice instead of steel, broken easily. How can I know? Do we ever truly stop doubting ourselves? Can one be strong without anyone else’s aid?