I wish it was cold enough to be snuggled up with a good book and a soft blanket for a couple of hours without being sweaty when the pages run dry. I wish that I was as clear on my decisions in life as the heroin(e) I've been following around of late. I wish California had winter, I honestly remember there being one when I was a kid. Not a blistering cold, but just a crisp coldness that let you know there was some semblance of a shift in seasons. I wish that I could focus my passion and choose one thing to do, and to do not just better than most, but with excellence. Not that it has to be a contest, but I know I have a lot of gifts and passions, I just feel like I'm slightly above average in some of them; never quite achieving what I somehow believe I could. Why can't I crank out a fantastic piece of fiction? Sometimes I think that (creative) writing is the thing that I'm least talented at, yet it's the thing I want to do the most. It scares me, because I get like this, so engrossed in a book that I can read for hours on end and think about the characters even when the book is miles away... so reading on Stephanie Meyer's website about what she goes through in trying to keep up with the voices of Edward and Bella in her head actually frightens me. I love deeply, I love thoroughly. The friends who are the closest to me are the ones who can tolerate my obsessive nature. Even my dog is not safe! I am thankful to have a husband who loves me just as deeply, yet it is that love that I am afraid to inflict harm upon by engrossing myself into writing something like that. Maybe that's why it is best for me to read things like this quickly, get them out of my system in a week or two and be done with it. If I wrote things like this, they would go with me everywhere. They would know and say things that might upset or offend friends and loved ones, and that looks and smells too much like Pandora's Box to me.
I think I should give it a day or two before I start Eclipse. I need to recover.