I started the day with a spike in my tea at 10am. Why, you ask? I'm not an alcoholic, by any means. It's just that the world needs a lot of help to be tolerable. Well...sometimes. Other times, I need plenty of help to tolerate myself in the face of the world's tolerableness. (Google Chrome tells me that's not a word, but you know what? I'm on a reckless streak today). I tend to think of everything as...unduly difficult. Whiny 'the world is out to get me' stuff, usually. I know it's irrational, but sometimes I'm still a teenager at heart. Must be why I relate to them so much.
Which is most likely why I'm sitting in a sunlit campus apartment living room watching New Moon. Edward just left, that smarmy bastard.
I feel like Bella sometimes. I welcome whatever flaming I get in return for that statement. She's different from the normal YA heroine, in that she always seems to accept what happens around her and that she's unable to stop it. After all, she's painfully ordinary. Why would someone so powerful/beautiful/smart/etc. ever want her? It makes sense to her, for her to be alone. It's not until the end of the books (the series, or even just New Moon in particular in this case), that the audience can step back and go, "Wait a minute. Where did that conquering attitude come from?" We're led along with Bella to believe she's weak and has no bearing in this crazy supernatural world she's been thrust into. Which, let's face it, she doesn't. Not in any real sense. But if you pull yourself back from everything, and look at the tiny choices she makes in the face of everything, without looking for huge shows of grandeur and courage, it starts to become plain. The choices she makes that show her courage are the ones she makes when faced with something so basic that it seems ludicrous to her not to have it. Things like her friendship with Jacob, her relationship with Charlie, or her own baby. She sees these as belonging fundamentally to her, as opposed to things bestowed upon her by others, like Edward's love, becoming a vampire, etc.
And now I've made a post about the inner workings of a character I pretty much inherently don't like. If there is a point, let me try to find it within the rambly workings of my brain.
My point is that I have only recently found my Jacob, my Charlie, my Nessie. That thing that I feel belongs to me, and that I deserve it. Writing. For the longest time, I've denied myself the thought of actually getting paid for doing something I like. I've stuck to the gameplan of getting a degree (or in my case, two) in something "respectable" as some would put it. Psychology and Business. Sure I was told one can't make a living doing something artsy or whatever (despite the evidence to the contrary that takes up my bookshelf). And I believed it. I still sort of believe it, in the sense that I probably won't ever get rich off of it or anything. I might not even ever do it professionally.
Thing is, I will do it. And I will attempt to make it worth something to others who might potentially buy it and publish it. I'll still pull my weight in the corporate world, so to speak. I'm not dumb--I'd rather be comfortable than fight the good fight in the face of my own poverty when I could potentially be better. However, I'm going to write and I'm going to publish and I'm going to fight for my own dream. Because it's mine. (Yes, I said that Bill-style. I'm hopping between vampires, here. Plus, I can't help my ingrained southern accent anyway.)
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