Oh, Miss Havisham. Strange that you would pop into my head just now.
Interjection: I was the only kid in my ninth grade class who enjoyed “Great Expectations.” At the very least, I was certainly the only student who read through it, in its entirety. Miss Havisham is a nightmare shade of the ravages of love and fixation. She caused me to be doubly afraid of falling in love and of growing old. I like to think I’m over that, nine years later.
It’s difficult to be a better person when you’re surrounded by thoughtlessness and pettiness. I will never, ever claim to be a paragon of virtue, but I do want to be a better person than I am.
It wasn’t very long ago that I decided I could be a better person, or that I wanted to be one. It was a very conscious deliberation, and I still sometimes wish I could just let it go and be incredibly nasty (And I could certainly be very nasty if I ever made it a goal).
Meh. I think I stay home so often so as to avoid this decision. If I stay home with a book or mete out my version of justice in a video game, I don’t have to think about how I should act to be a good person.
Balls. I’m aimlessly typing this during class because I can only maintain focus for about 20 minutes. Perhaps during spring break I’ll give this blog more attention.