Just be yourself...

Why lie? I've spent years studying literature; for me, it is the reason for living. In all honesty, I am an over-enthusiastic amateur, who is avoiding her fate as an administrating office monkey for as long as possible, by writing a meaningless thesis on something that nobody (except maybe some other geeks) care about or will ever read. It is a shying away from the outside world, escaping into the world of books and exploring that world through the microscope of critical theory.

It's sad, but I've lost the fire in my belly from my travelling days, and after a few years of clutching a broken heart wrapped up in tattered dreams, talking about literature is about as close as I ever get to that adventure. It stops that feeling that I get from day to day life that somewhere along the way we've all been short changed. I'll perpetuate the hope there is more to life than death and taxes, such as great loves, the aesthetic of language, travel and the meaning that ripples under the surface which hints of something more than this life.

Should this make me pretentious, then so be it... I'll sit in an Ivory Tower of ideals (with my hat and gloves on as this place is freezing) reading about lovers I will never have, wars I will never fight and mourn people I have never known, as this will always be preferable to me than dreaming of cars I will never own, shoes I will never wear and the elusive moisturiser that will enrich the flawless skin I will never have.

Judge me if you want to, but it won't change the way that I feel.