Year Three

I seriously cannot believe I've kept this list up for 3 years! Well actually, this blog period! I'm quite proud of myself! If you missed Year One and Year Two check 'em out!

• It by Stephen King
• Neuromancer by William Gibson
• Altered Carbon by Richard K. Morgan
• Schismatrix Plus by Bruce Sterling
• Hardwired by Walter Jon Williams
  
• The Furies of Calderon by Jim Butcher
• Academ's Fury by Jim Butcher
• Cursor's Fury by Jim Butcher
• Hidden Empire by Orson Scott Card
• Capitan's Fury by Jim Butcher
• Princeps Fury by Jim Butcher
• Soul Runner by Jon Guenther
• Ragged Dick by Horatio Alger
• The Men Who Stare at Goats by Jon Ronson
• Spook by Mary Roach
• First Lord's Fury by Jim Butcher
• Broken Angels by Richard K. Morgan
• Woken Furies by Richard K. Morgan
• Geosynchron by David Louis Edelman
• The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz-Zafón
• Hyperion by Dan Simmons
• Fall of Hyperion by Dan Simmons
• The Stand by Stephen King
• Fever Dream by Douglass Preston & Lincoln Child
• The Passage by Justin Cronin
• Dismantled by Jennifer McMahon
• Rides a Dread Legion by Raymond E. Feist
• I Am Legend by Richard Matheson
• The Martians by Kim Stanley Robinson
• 2001: A Space Odyssey by Arthur C. Clark
  
• American Gods by Neil Gaiman
• At the Gates of Darkness by Raymond E. Feist
• The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert Heinlein
• Gridlinked by Neal Asher
• The Black Prism by Brent Weeks
• Martian Outpost by Erik Seedhouse
• Shogun by James Clavell
• Gideon's Sword by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
• The Lost Gate by Orson Scott Card
• The Mall of Cthulhu by Seamus Cooper
• Freakonomics by Steven D. Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner
  

Total (Nov. 19th, 2009 - Nov. 19th, 2010): 41

Grand Total (Nov. 19th, 2007 - Nov. 19th, 2010): 145

You know this has been an interesting year indeed. I had my little Cyberpunk stint over winter break, and from there it kinda went all over the board. For the first several months I was right on track with what I wanted to be reading, but ya know, shit happens, I got sick, I moved out, I've taken a bigger interest in school, and as such the amount of reading has gone down. Is this necessarily a bad thing? By no means it isn't, I mean I was reading more than a book a week back in year one, that's a lot.. and I mean other things suffered because of it. So, while it is kinda sad that I'm not reading as much, it's allowed me to do other things, and more importantly try and focus on my schoolwork more.

One thing that's been interesting this year is the amount of absolutely amazing books I've read. In my own little word doc on my computer I have a list going like this one, but with a 1-10 rating system employed. Before I go on, though, I don't put my ratings on here because there are so many factors that contribute to my ratings, things that shouldn't matter at all like mood and what I read prior. This I think invalidates some of the ratings, not to mention I've also changed some ratings after reading other books and comparing them. Reviewing and rating is a pretty interesting topic that I may address at some point, but in any cases I had more books rated "9" this year than any of the previous years. I may of just gotten lucky, but damn there were some amazing reads.

Another thing that is rather interesting is the evolution of what I think of thousand-plus page books. Back when I read Hubbard (my first thousand-plus page book) I firmly believed that a thousand pages was overkill. Now, after reading several Stephen King books over a thousand, as well as several others, most noticeably Shogun, I think there are authors that really do need that much room and make the most out of that room. Foolish of me to make such a huge judgment based on L. Ron Hubbard, when so many excellent authors have breached the 1k mark successfully!

In any case, this has been an amazing year both in reading and in general and while I don't write as much as I should on here, I plan on updating when I can. Thanks to those of you that do read, and for those of you who click over here from facebook from my whorish self promotion, thanks for the curiosity! If you need a book to read, this list is jam packed with good ones from every genre, and don't forget about my recommendation blogs: First and Second.

Originality

I entered the world of blogging back in 2007, at first with some faithful companions, and then on my own. It was my senior year and I honest to god wanted to become a better writer, express my thoughts more clearly, and put myself out there. It was a rough start to say the least and, honestly, I don't know if it's even gotten that much better for me. I've watched the progress of my friends and, like everything else in my life, they've improved miles while I've gone inches. Or so I think, one thing I've learned over these past few years is that you cannot judge your own writing, at least not so much that it prevents you from doing the thing you're here to do; write. I've had so many difficulties with this idea; in fact I don't believe I've overcome it yet. To date I have never finished a short story or any sort of fiction at all; I've ranted, I've raved, I've peered into my soul at times on this blog, but I still have yet to actually do what I set out to do. I know that very, very few people actually read this blog, and I know that I thrive on those readers, but honestly I'm actually quite terrified of certain kinds of criticism. Sure I don't really give one wit about what others think of me, but when it comes to fiction and short story stuff, I'm terrified. Perhaps it isn't just them I am afraid of; perhaps I'm afraid of what it is I will think. My first and last attempt at any sort of story was Untitled and I came to a very interesting conclusion: I may read too much. I know it sound weird and off—authors need to keep in touch with their genre after all—but I've been thinking about it for the past couple months and I don't know if I have any of my own ideas.

Originality is, after all, an authors best friend, it's what gives him his power, his allure, his greatness, but it's also one of those things that is becoming harder and harder to come by. If you think of great fantasy, Tolkien comes up without a second thought, but really how many other authors are really being as original as they should be? I mean sure a few come to mind, but many of the fantasy authors I can think of have striking similarities to Tolkien, some, like Terry Brooks, blatantly rip him off. Of course many authors are different too, but I find that when I write, or even think of stories playing out in my head, that they are horribly similar to things I've read or seen in the past. Some are completely subconscious to the extent that I don't even realize it isn't even my idea in the first place, others take a mere five minutes of thought for me to realize "shit.. this isn't mine". The easiest example is, of course, Untitled because one of my good friends first pointed it out to me. You see there's this graphic novel called Air Gear that was floating around the net back freshmen maybe sophomore year (it's now available here in the U.S. in hard print), this graphic novel was the inspiration—without my knowing it—of Untitled. From wiki:

"Itsuki "Ikki" Minami, is a student and a delinquent. Also known as the "Unbeatable Babyface", Ikki is the leader of the youth gang by the name of "East Side Gunz". Upon his return home, after being humiliated by a Storm Rider team called the Skull Saders, Ikki discovers a secret hidden from him by his benefactors, the Noyamano sisters. The sisters belong to a group of Storm Riders who go by the team name of Sleeping Forest. In the anime, learning the sisters' secret angers him and he steals a pair of Air Trecks, abbreviated as "AT". (In the manga, the sisters give a pair of ATs to him and invite him to skate with them.) Ikki eventually settles his grudge with the Skull Saders, but in the process he receives more than the simple satisfaction of revenge. Determined to experience the sensation of "flight" for as long as he can, Ikki is quickly engaged in the mysterious, irresistible world of Air Treks."

Yeah, you might not be able to tell too much how similar my story was, but trust me, it was. Sure I had different names, a different setting, and a slightly different premise, but at the heart it was Air Gear written poorly. This may be part of the reason I stopped, subconsciously I knew I was kind of ripping off this story, but who knows. Recently I have had a million ideas running through my head, stories to tell, characters to create, but I am afraid of ripping things off again. This is partly why you have an editor I'm sure, partly why you keep in touch with what others are doing, but honestly, can I really say that I have any of my own ideas? I look over at my bookcase and there are so many stories there, so many characters, plots, and worlds, can I really write something on my own? There are book I read back in middle school that I don't even remember, probably books from my childhood that are gone, but memory never really disappears, we just loose access to it. Already I scoff at professional, excellent writers because I see similarities to others, who am I to even judge? I know that people get inspiration from others, every author interview says as much, but where can you draw the line? Some, like Lev Grossman, make it obvious enough that they're writing satire that it's okay to use such fundamental ideas, but others, like Brooks, seem to not know or not care that their story is the same give or take a character name. I wonder if maybe I just need to write without thinking and get it out of my system. Perhaps I'm over reacting and just need to get my foot in the door because I have not written anything to completion. Maybe writing something, finishing it, even if I don't show anyone, is the way to go, I mean if it is blatantly ripped off from somewhere who cares? Yet I feel as though everyone else out there can write amazing, original, creative works on their first try. So many of my heroes wrote their first book or story, got it published, and were on their way. They had a well of ideas that never seemed to end, and yet the first thing I try and seriously write is plagiarized trash. Now look at me, I read, and then write about books, that is all this blog has turned into. Sure it's interesting, but it is not what I wanted after two years of this. Even if it was, I see no improvement between April 2007 and now. My vocabulary may be somewhat more sophisticated, but not much, and certainly not as a result of me writing about fucking books. I mean I don't even do that "right", I ramble and I jump around, and in the end I just have a big puddle of mush that probably turns people off from the books more than interests them. What do I do? I know I have ideas, but how can I know they're mine?

Maybe that's the thing; maybe everything really is just a copy of a copy of a copy. Is there even such thing as true originality? Or are things only original because we have yet to have encountered them before? Tolkien could have knicked some of his ideas off someone before him, and that person from someone before. Back in the early 1900's Carl Jung—one of Freud's disciples—was examining patients in a mental hospital when he encountered a severely schizophrenic man gazing out the window in a peculiar way. When he asked the man what he saw the patient told him that if he squinted his eyes and looked at the sun, he could then see the "sun's penis", and that if you moved your head to and fro you could see the penis moving and this, he said, was the origin of the wind. Pretty fucking weird eh? Well, it wasn't the first time that had been said. It turned out that when Jung was studying mythology he came across a recently translated Greek text that said nearly the same thing: a tube hanging from the sun, when moving, caused the winds. Penis aside, there was no possible way for this schizophrenic man to have even heard of the text since it wasn't even translated until after he had been committed, from that encounter Jung developed his idea of the collective unconscious. As the name implies, Jung believed that every human being had access to this vast store of knowledge and could not be explained by personal unconscious from ones memories. Things like God, the spirit, truth, justice, these things aren't learned even over an entire person's lifetime, yet even a young child knows when something is just "wrong", he may not know what that thing is, why it feels that way, or be able to explain it, but he just knows it. Certainly we learn things, from our parents, society, and many other things, but there's something else going on. This is one of the topics that was addressed in The Witch in the Waiting Room by Robert Bobrow M.D., and one of the things that I feel we have yet to truly unlock. Even Plato believed in this with his Forms which "asserts that non-material abstract (but substantial) forms (or ideas), and not the material world of change known to us through sensation, possess the highest and most fundamental kind of reality". Essentially anyone can look at a chair, any chair, and know that it is a chair. I'm not a philosopher so I probably botched the metaphor a bit, but the idea is the same. Why is it that in fiction there is always a hero and always a villain? Even the oldest written human stories contain these ideas: in Homer's works and even in the ancient, ancient Epic of Gilgamesh contain these very same themes. Certainly there isn't The Lord of the Rings just floating up around, but the idea of it is there, Good over Evil, Light vs. Dark, Friendship and Loyalty, it's hard for me to believe that these things, which are all so prevalent in every culture, are just things we learn. They're too profound, they're too intense. Even just the idea of "friends" is too much for anyone to come up with on their own, and yet at the youngest of ages we group together, we are loyal to one another, we make these connections with other people that just cannot be explained. And then there's love. Countless songs, ballads, poems, and every other kind of expressive form have described this. Across generations, throughout the world, love is another one of those forces that every human just knows deep down.

Perhaps originality is merely taking these ideals and putting your own face on them, certainly we enjoy authors like Tolkien and Herbert not only for their ideas, but for their characterizations, their subtle twists and turns. It's a cliché by now, but it really isn't the destination that really counts, it's the journey to get there! That's kind of where I hit a rut, I'm so paranoid about ripping ideas off, that I can't appreciate my own unique ride. I do truly feel that reading is almost detrimental to my writing, but at the same time imitation is the highest form of flattery—unless you're a lawyer. I said back in the day that the only way to improve one's writing was to write, I think the same is true for fiction, your first few stories might be horribly familiar, but it might only be because you're most familiar with other peoples writing and haven't yet learned what your own style is. Write now I really do not know what my style is, at least not in a fictional sense. I know I ramble when I write, but that is because of my lack of proofreading or editing. It's horrible, but I have never proofread my stuff before, I generally write, and post (or turn in as the case may be). As such I've realized that proofreading is a skill, a skill that is hard, frustrating, and makes me want to shoot myself, but a skill none the less. As all skills go it's another one of those things that you just have to do over, and over, and over again before you can really do it decently. For someone such as myself it is also one of those skills that is absolutely essential, my grammar sucks, I ramble, my sentences are awkward, and I generally take forever to make a single point, so bear with me. This is one of those things that I am going to try and do from now on, on all of my posts. Except this one, it's 12:30, I'm tired, and I really don't want to look at this post ever again!

Reading Dilemma

It seems that I do my best thinking in the scant minutes before I a fall asleep; that in between place where you are neither awake nor asleep. Generally I find that I think of something amazing, but the next morning it's gone, but this past night I found that I actually remembered some of my thoughts. Actually it may just be that I've thought on this problem for a while now, either way, it comes down to whether or not it's worth the time to re-read books/series again or not.

There are a lot of pros and cons for each, but honestly I find myself stuck. I've read a lot of amazing books and series before, many of which are worth reading multiple times, but yet it comes down to being overwhelmed by the options. Working in a book store really opens your eyes to all thats out there, sure intellectually I always knew there were lots and lots of books, but seeing the thousands of titles that come out over the months really gets to you. So the choice is this, do I fall back and read what I know is good? Or do I take that risk, that leap of faith if you will, and try out these new books? It really is a risk in the sense that I could spend time reading and finishing a book only to realize that it was complete rubbish! That time spent on that book is gone forever after that, it's regret, sadness, and pure rage all at the same time, but yet to only read books I've read before would be stupid. It's what's killing the church, and what plagues every religion: stagnation. Indeed had I only read what I read before I would not be nearly as well read as I am now--this is why some people only read the bible they don't wanna risk reading good fiction--so its a balance. Sure. Easy to say, but I'm still stuck with the idea of if it's actually worth re-reading books I've fallen in love with before.

Since starting this blog, I haven't re-read any books, but in the past I have. I've read all the Harry Potter books twice except the last one, I've read Magician: Apprentice and Magician: Master several times, as well as a few of the Anne Rice books, plus Tolkein, so it's not like I'm truly opposed to the idea, it's that I'm afraid of missing out on books I haven't read. This is really quite frustrating because with school and work I hardly have enough time to read in general, should I really be reading things again? But they're SO GOOD. *sigh* I've also put myself into a bit of a corner because before I used to only buy books when I needed a new one, so if I finished one and didn't have anything else I'd pick up one I'd read before, but now working at a bookstore I have a stack of freaking books to read on my shelf! Not to mention in my line of work I am practically bombared with suggestions and recommendations on what to read next! If only I was a vampire I would have so much more time, or hell if I didn't have to sleep, blast you body, you are so limiting! Okay, well, I feel that there are some series that are must reads, and as such, must re-reads. Generally speaking if the book is grand enough, you'll find new things with each time you read it, so there are benefits. But should I only re-read novels? Or should I re-read entire series? Well you can't just stop after reading The Fellowship of the Ring, so I'm going to say that I should go big or go home!

Now that that's cleared up, I think I'll make a list of some books/series I should re-read, because as much as I'd like to re-read every book I've ever enjoyed, there are just too many. So here's a list:

Science Fiction

• The Dune Series by Frank Herbert
• The "Enderverse" by Orson Scott Card -- This one is unique in regards to the fact that Card is still writing for this universe and since my memory isn't what it used to be (and of course the books are fucking amazing) I think it would be beneficial to go through these again.
  
• Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson
• The Mars Trilogy by Kim Stanley Robinson

Fantasy

• The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
• The Riftwar Saga by Raymond E. Feist -- Again this is another unique one because, like Card, Feist is still writing this saga. As of this year there are 26 books out with 4 forthcoming. 30 books, that's more than half a year in what I'm averaging so far so reading them would probably be a year long event. Yet.. Feist is honestly my favorite fantasy author, and ALL of his books are so good. Now I haven't read 6 of those 26 since they're side books, but my logic is to wait until the entire series is done and done and then just sit down for a Feist marathon. We'll see though.
  
• The Tales of the Otori by Lian Hearn
• Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss -- He just needs to finish this series, I'm already going to have to re-read the first book just to know wtf is going on with the second when it comes out.
  

Fiction

• The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice -- Now I'm not sure if I'll read the entire series again because she went all religious and shitty the last couple books, but the first few for sure.
  
• Chuck Palahniuk, mainly Fight Club, Survivor, and Choke
• Dystopian favorites: 1984, Anthem, A Brave New World, and We
• Hotel New Hampshire by John Irving
  

For now I think that's good, I know I should put more of the classics up, Steinbeck and the like, but I feel like those are still too fresh in my mind, not to mention dry. I know I will eventually, but for the purposes of this blog I'll leave them out. I'd also like to say that if you need a good book in the three above genres you wouldn't be wrong to pick up one of the ones I mentioned. Speaking of which I think I'll write another Ry Recommends in the near future. Stay tuned!

On Keeping a Journal

I began my summer school at cnm not knowing what was ahead of me. Would my teachers be nice? Would they be worth the time, the effort, the money? Or would it be just another semester of uninspired professors and equally uninspired students. English 102 is one of those core classes that everyone must take. This often leads to a certain amount of blah, a lack luster class full of busy work on things you already know or things you don't really want to know. Even still it is also one of those classes that needs to be taken by everyone, like math, English is one of those subject you build up on, and until you have the basics down, you're nothing more than mediocre. Indeed, even after taking the class you are more than likely going to still be mediocre, but the things you learn in such a class are valuable. A review of grammar, spelling, and most importantly a higher level or writing. Higher expectations. A higher degree of analysis. Deeper, more complex stories and plots. Unfortunately this is something you need to be guided on. You need a good teacher in order to get the most out of a class, especially one like English. My 101 professor, for example, was pretty bored with the whole thing. He was being forced to teach the intro class because there weren't more than a few high level poetry classes available to teach. And it showed. I went through that class with a minimal amount of effort, I don't even remember the essays I wrote, much less the stories from them. Essentially the teacher didn't want to be there any more than the students.

This summer however I was put into a situation where the professor cared a lot about his class and his subject. He had a PhD in English, was a journalist for the majority of his career, and genuinely cared about his students. In other words, I actually had to put effort into the class. The very first day he did something unexpected, one of our major assignments was to keep a journal throughout the summer. In order to make sure that we were keeping it we would have to turn it in every time we did a rough draft of an essay in class. This surprised me because I hadn't ever encountered a professor that gave us an assignment not just for busy work, but for our own, 100%, improvement. I started this blog because I believe the more you write, the better you become at writing. It's been iffy, but I do feel like I've improved somewhat. I can express myself better than when I started, I think anyway, I can put my thoughts down onto paper--so to speak--with more ease, and if nothing else my brain isn't as cluttered as before. This ideal was his as well, but instead of a blog, it was a journal. There was no page requirement, no topics given, it was completely up to us to put whatever we wanted down. Now I've had my fair share of experiences with journals, none of them have lasted, so I was somewhat skeptical of the whole thing. This is because I have always had in my mind that a journal was a daily log of what you did, I'm sorry, but that is horribly boring to me. My life is nothing special, I don't do anything fascinating enough day-to-day to put down, nor am I introspective enough to be able to analyze my day-to-day existence in any sort of self improvement way. So I thought about it, and thought about it, and finally shrugged, I would write what I would write. I wasn't going to put the date, I wasn't going to put what I did, I was just going to write. It essentially became another blog, but with no standards. Even though I knew he was going to read it, I didn't feel the need to make it as polished and complete or even as coherent as my blog is. In fact, it was rather strange, but the reason I didn't keep up with my journals previously is because I find the idea of reading my own stuff boring, I need an audience, I am and always will be an attention whore. What is this blog? It is of no importance, I have few readers, but those that do read drive me to keep writing. It may be a sad reason to write, but it's true, I'm an attention whore. I need people to read my writing even if they don't agree, I need them to validate me and make it so I'm "worth" something, even when I know I am not. That is exactly what happened with this school journal. I wrote and wrote and wrote, not because I had any real interest in it, not because I believe I will ever go back and read it, but because deep down I knew that this professor was going to read it.

The sentences spilled out, the paragraphs formed, the entries added up, and the pages flew by and you know what? I enjoy it. I think that it has even become something of a habit, albeit a rather random one. I don't write in it every day, I never planned to, but about once a week I'll sit down with it and just write. I don't feel restrained by the idea that someone is going to read it, because really even if they do they can't really comment, even if they do it's just a note here or there, whereas here every word and entry is criticized and analyzed by people. I think its a good thing for someone's writing to be torn apart, it helps improve it, and gives the author an idea of what they need to do to become better. But I have found that with a journal I can write merely to write. I've said here in the past that I write only to write and I don't care what people think, and that's true, to an extent. With a journal I've found that I can put anything down, no matter how absurd, incomplete, or random. It's rather refreshing to be honest. An essay is written to be torn apart by your professor, just as this blog is written to express my opinion and let others respond, but a journal is just for me. It's a place I can write about the stupidest or most profound things, and it has actually inspired some of these blog entries. It's like a rough draft for here, and if it doesn't make the cut, what the hell I still got it on paper; I still got the experience from the very act of writing. It doesn't all have to make it here, indeed, a lot of it is just getting my thoughts straight about my ideas, and I think it may actually help my writing not be so jumpy. I tend to figure things out as I write and that makes it difficult to follow from a readers point of view, but with my journal, if I have an idea or thought about something I can write it, expand it, change it all I want and then when I come here to actually express my thoughts they're more thought out.

As you can probably tell this isn't one of those that came from my journal, but hell writing by hand is also really, really hard. I find that with my sloppy handwriting two pages is maybe a page typed up. It's a slow, tedious process, but it's actually enjoyable. I also have the selfish idea in my head that, like some great authors, in the distant future my journal may even be published. It's silly, I know that, but I also feel that this blog may even be published! We'll see what happens! Besides you never know, something like this may actually be popular, I don't know why, but people are strange creatures.

Failure

I began this summer as a bright eyed optimist, having so many plans, so many goals, so much to do! Alas procrastination kicked in, followed by degradation brought on by my failures both physically and emotionally. Why is it that it is so easy for us to make these goals, have these plans, and aspirations if we know without a shadow of a doubt that we'll only fail? Why are we so enthralled by the idea of becoming better, but never actually following through? Is it just the idea of making something of yourself that gives your ego that extra boost to get you through whatever slump you're in? Or is it simply our nature to want to be better, promise ourselves to be better, and by doing so enable ourselves to put it off with idiotic excuses? "I want to get in shape, but school and work has just taken too much; it's too hot; I don't feel good." "I want to be a better student, but my teacher is an idiot and doesn't know what they're talking about; I have better things to do than stupid homework; oh I'll just do it tomorrow."

The worst part about the whole thing is how easy it is for us to say one thing and do nothing. In everything. Whether it is life, love, or anything in between. Not only that, but then it hits you and you actually realize that you're wasting your life. You're not doing what you want to do; you're avoiding situations that might actually make you a better person. That hurts. Waking up every day knowing that you're just another worker bee with hollow goals and moronic dreams. Is it possible to be too ambitious, but without the talent to make anything of those ambitions? For me this idea has struck home, hard, over the past few weeks. Although I'm doing well in my English class, I am once again confronted by my pure lack of math abilities. Perhaps I just have a mental block when it comes to math; psychologically it's proven that if you believe something long enough it becomes your reality, but do I want to put it off as easily as that? Am I really so controlled by my unconscious that I am mentally and physically at a standstill? I go off on how life isn't fair and how I hate this or that, but what am I really doing with my life? Nothing. At least that's how it feels to me. I have all these dreams, I have all these needs of being amazing, of doing something important, to be recognized, but yet I refuse to put any effort into my own life. How is it that someone can be so ambitious yet so unmotivated? It just doesn't work. The whole situations leads to failure and disappointment, common themes in my life, and yet, even with this knowledge I still do nothing. I don't pursue my dreams, I don't work at my classes, I don't try and better myself mentally much less physically, and top of that I'm a bitter wreck. I criticize people better than me, I'm surrounded by them. All of my friends are talented, smart, and actually making something of themselves. This should motivate me, this should make me strive to better myself, but I'm so bitter and jealous I find myself thinking it's not worth it. Why should I pursue this or that when my friends can all do it far better than I can? But this isn't a healthy way of thinking, I know that, I realize it, but how do I stop it?

I say old euphemism "acceptance is the first step to recovery" more often than not in an ironic almost sarcastic sort of way, but is it true? It may be relative, works for some people, but not for everyone perhaps. I find that knowing I'm a failure and even accepting it doesn't do jack for me. In fact, more often than not it just depresses me and forces me to seek comfort in another or in one of my books. I then forget my failures for hours, days, maybe a week, but sooner or later it hits me again and I'm just as depressed and bitter as I ever. Am I just masochistic? Do I need to cause myself heartache and pain in order to live? Maybe I'm just punishing myself for not doing what I hope to do. For not being the person I know I could be. I don't commit to the philosophical ideal of determinism. I do not believe that we're set for life the minute we're born, that some so called "God" has a plan for each and every one of us, I believe that if you work for it you can do anything you want. It is somewhat naive here in America where the rich can do whatever they want regardless of talent, skill, or work. But I really do believe that you can be whoever you want to be if you put your mind to it. So what do I want to be? I don't even know. I'm currently aiming for medical school for Psychiatry, but who am I kidding? Just like my idiotic ideas of being an astrophysicist that I stuck to throughout high school, I don't believe I have the talent to become the kind of psychiatrist I want to be. Perhaps I need to learn to settle on being mediocre, but in a country that spouts free will and stories of rags to riches how can anyone honestly be happy just being? I want to be something, I want to be someone.

Even still I know that I am not. I will never live up to the goals I have set for myself. I will never be a Martin Luther King Jr., a John F. Kennedy, a Ghandi, or even looking at it the other way a Hitler, Stalin, Pol Pot, or any other hero or villain throughout history. Why am I so obsessed with being a one in a million, why do I have to be special in anyway? Why can't I just accept and be happy with who I am? I have my talents, sort of, I read a lot and have an amazing comprehension, I mean there are millions of people in the world that don't even know how to read. That should be something I can be proud of, yet I can't. It's not good enough. I'm not good enough. The saying "The grass is always greener on the other side" is so god damn true, and it's awful. I can juggle, I can navigate a computer and other such technology some people aren't comfortable with, I have great friends, an absolutely amazing girlfriend, but yet I want more. I want to be acknowledged for something. All of my "talents" are nothing more than slightly above average, all of my friends can rape me at juggling, I know several people that are better readers than I am, my writing is ghastly compared to my friends, and every other thing I might pride myself on I know someone who does it that much better than me. Even if I were to be better than my friends at something, anything, there is going to be someone out there who's even better at it than I am. Whether it is due to talent or unimaginable devotion it doesn't matter, they're out there. Sure I can become a psychiatrist, but I'll never be a Freud. I can become a physicist, but never an Einstein. A politician even, but never a JFK. Hell even my half assed attempts at being a radical are failures when it comes right down to it, I mean really, picketing for prairie dogs? No wonder no one gave a shit. All of my passions, chess, writing, juggling, reading, psychology, all of them are going to be utter disappointments because of my inability to settle for what I have. It's not fair. It just isn't! Why are some people gifted with the ability to be amazing authors or world class chess players? Why are some people just naturally better than others at things, but I'm not naturally good at ANYTHING. You would think that with almost 7 billion people on this earth that I would have a chance to be decent at something. I would be able to handle decent at something, to have a talent for something. But there isn't one thing in this world that I'm even remotely talented at. I have to work at everything, I have to work at my job to make the a living when people are born into shitloads of money; I have to work at school when plenty of people just coast through without a care and still pull all A's; I have to work at everything I do and even still I come up short of the average. I'm subpar on everything: math, English, writing, chess, athletics, even my god damn people skills suck. I alienate my friends, push away my family, and fight with my girlfriend all for ridiculous reasons. Just because I suck at life doesn't mean I should take it out on everyone else who'd actually succeeding, but I'm jealous. It's not fair, none of it.

So I sit here and instead of trying to do something with myself, anything at all, I complain. Just like I complain about everything else. Granted my complaints about religion, politics, and utter stupidity I think are actually justified, this is just plain and simple venting. I apologize to those that might actually read this, though they are few. I make myself out to be a strong willed, morally sound person in my posts, and if I let you down then I did. It's no big deal; I disappoint everyone I care about and most of all myself. Still I know I won't do anything, I won't actually pursue my random interests, but what does it matter? Once I become decent at whatever it is I get into in the future, I'll just find someone out there that's far superior than I am. Until I become something I don't know how to cope with myself. Maybe that's the reason I read so much, I'm living vicariously through the characters, and somewhat through the author. While I read the world disappears and I'm actually someone, I'm actually doing something with my life. I strongly believe that if I hadn't met Kimberley I would be a complete and utter recluse at this point. I more than likely would have dropped out, spent all my money on books, food, and other such material things, but luckily I found her. And amazingly she loves me as I love her! She's the most important thing in my life and I can't imagine a world without her at this point. When I read I may lose myself, but she's always the lighthouse guiding me home when I'm lost in the fog of my mind. She pulls me out of my slumps, makes me believe in myself, and I do believe that someday, with her help, I will become something. I no doubt will have to settle, because even statistically those one of a kind people are the rarest of rare: products of their time, their environment, their genes, and their genius. Slowly I'm trying to be a better person, I haven't missed one class this summer, I plan on doing the same this coming fall, and hopefully even with my poor math skills I will pull my ass outta this funk and pass, not only that understand. For now, thank you for bearing with me. I have no reason to post this, I should probably put it in my journal where only she and I can read, but I am an attention whore, and although I have no doubt some people will be mean about it. Whatever. I can handle a lot of criticism; I do actually, from everyone for everything, and myself. And honestly no matter what anyone thinks or says it's not as bad as my own inner voice.