I have tried my hardest to keep Ireland in my heart the past few weeks, but naturally, I've let things here get the best of me lately and now it takes a considerable amount of thought to reach the peace I thought I'd brought back from those cliffs for keeps. Instead of revelling in the continued emotions of that last blog, I found myself grimacing at typos and bad grammar, feeling like I sold the moment short when I know I didn't. I wish there was a way to say "God, why am I always my own worst critic?" without the irony. So I think I'll just try to say it less.

I was in the library today trying to find a copy of Faulkner's The Unvanquished when my eyes caught the two bookcases of Faulkner literary analysis and criticism and once again felt confused about whether I ever want to write stuff like that. I decided not to do Honors English because I didn't want to have a guided process wherein I'd produce something hopefully publishable. Fact is, I'd need a really good reason to do it because I've reached a point where tacking Honors on the end of my degrees isn't going to be any more fulfilling. Maybe I'll regret it down the road, which is probably why I tell myself if I want to write something, now I can do it on my own time.

But do I? I mean, the idea of my name on something you can find in the library is kind of cool, but libraries are HUGE...I mean, how much will I really get out of that. I think I can only remember a handful of essays like that that have ever really moved me or impressed me and I can't even remember the names of them. So I'd have to be doing it for the satisfaction, and I'm wondering if being published will give the same jolt as when I say something that really hits home in a classroom setting. I mean, I'll be the first to admit, I get a cocky high when I know I've made a good point in my English classes, and sometimes I get really excited about a big idea in literature, but when someone shows me the grunt work of research, I shy away immediately. And I honestly can't decide if I need to buckle down because I'm a slacker, or if it's honestly not going to make me happy.

You know, I thought I'd made my peace with the quitting thing. I look back at high school and no longer kick myself for quitting Mock Trial (I can't believe I ever kicked myself for that, but I did), because I know I was just trying things. And I know that, in a sense, we're still just trying things, but I just wish I knew whether something was justifiable quitting or just me being lazy.

ARGH! I like books! I like reading! I don't want to pick it apart! I'll talk about it until the cows come home, but don't make me dissect something as beautiful as As I Lay Dying.

So that's that.

Emotionally, I have a limbo on the horizon and I don't know what to do about it. My choices are really limited. I just need to make sure I don't do anything I'll regret or hurt anyone I care about.

This is a time in my life where I am forgiving myself for so many of the beat-downs I've received at my own hands over the years and yet, in some ways, the biggest recurring things that I have are at a sort of nth degree right now.

There are a few instances in which I know what I want...that's something, right?