Okay, so I really, really don't want to study for geography because I really, really hate geography. There is very little that can persuade me to get up, go to my desk, and crack open that book except for the hopes of getting an A in that class. That, and my really cute T.A. who makes pretty much anything interesting. But ridiculous school girl crush aside, I am literally doing everything in my power to think up ways to push back the time when I have to start studying. Such activities include:

1) Looking at all the fashion blogs that are tearing apart Hollywood/Fashion World from the Met Gala last night.
2) Finding new books on Amazon, realizing I need to win the lottery and become incredibly anti-social to read every book ever.
3) Making the 4th cup of tea of the day, because I WILL NOT GET SICK DANGIT! I have 6 days left of this semester and I will survive that time without the cold I feel coming on.
4) Cleaning/packing up my apartment. Sort of. Simply because I have another week left to do that and as much as I want to clean everything, it will just get messy again.
5) Writing a blog.

So that's what's up.

But I did have a general topic that's been on my mind lately. Gosh, there's a part of me that wishes I had a bunch of readers like my friends who have blogs, but then I remember that this blog is all about moi and that no one in their right mind, with the exception of my lovely family, would ever consider following this blog. WHOA distraction. Back to the point.

So every once in awhile I kind of freak out about my chosen career path. A.K.A. Do I really have the motivation/ability/insanity to pursue a career in books? This usually stems from the doubt of whether or not I am really a book lover enough to have a life devoted to them. Those who are reading this with incredulity, yes it really does happen. Sometimes it comes from a book dry spell, which is when I've been to busy or lazy to really read that much and I freak out that every one else is so up on reading and I haven't finished a book in almost two weeks. Or occasionally I'll talk to someone who is a book fiend who has read everything ever and I feel so irrelevant and unable to keep up that I immediately think I will never be a good book fiend. I think, my goodness, who do I think I am that I have the ability to even suggest books to others, let alone publish one and decide that should be the Great American Novel. Freak-outedness ensues.

But then...

I finish a book. Or I start one. Or I go to look up a random book on Amazon and three hours later I realize I have over a hundred books in my cart. Or I stay up until 5 in the morning reading an entire book accidentally (has happened way too many times). After something like this happens, I am reassured. The relationship I have with Literature is more like a relationship with a person. It has its ups and downs, sometimes I can't count on it, occasionally I am extremely let down, but then we make up, I remember the amazing attributes that charmed me in the beginning and we come full circle. We carry on, taking one day at a time, seeing the faults and follies of each other, but keeping in mind that the unbelievable love I have for Literature is something that won't go away, not matter how down I get.

As ridiculous as it sounds, it's what keeps me in check. The drive to make me go to my desk after I post this blog, find the definition for fluvial geomorphology because in the end, I would do pretty much anything to keep myself on the path to what I want. Which always has been and I know for a fact always will be, books.

Okay, epiphany over. Too much James Joyce in lit class, I guess. Also, this will be the last post for awhile as I have finals to suffer through. Have a good day/week/time!

P.S. I really miss you when you're not around, by the way. So come around.