The only things new in my life (not necessarily interesting things) are some self realizations I've had. Some things are becoming rather apparent to me about myself and before I forget that I discovered these things, I thought I'd write it down. I've been reading a lot lately. I finally finished Madame Bovary. It wasn't a difficult read, but I got distracted along the way with my New York Times crossword puzzles, a book about word origins and some short stories by W. Sommerset Maughm, a delightful author whom I enjoy thoroughly. Anyway, Flaubert's novel definitely struck a few chords in me and I read it at just the right time in my life. While I'd love to despise Emma, I find that I can only commiserate with her sense of ennui and routine that she is faced with in her marriage.  Of course, there are a number of differences between myself and her character, but I'm not as quick to judge or write her off as I might have been just a few years ago. I've now moved on to Orlando by Virgina Woolf. Admittedly, the only novel I've read by her is Mrs. Dalloway and upon my first read, I was completely frustrated. By my third and fourth go at the novel (which I think is necessary for understanding all the nuances in this book) I had decided it was one of my favorites. My new endeavor is much less exasperating but I've discovered a problem. I really don't enjoy reading as much as I did as a student. I actually love the idea of being assigned a novel, being required to discuss, analyze and scrutinize it and then writing a paper on my observations and opinions. I miss it so and the idea of reading for pure entertainment no longer appeals to me. I know, I'm strange. The thing is, knowing this about myself, I cannot rely on myself to try to read at that level. Since I don't have to, I'm not...even though I would be happier that way. Which brings me to this: I am an utterly lazy human being. And this is perhaps why I've never reached the level off success in my life that I always dreamed of. From the time I was 10, I wanted to be a famous actress. This followed me into my early college years and even up until a few years ago. My desire was so strong, but my willingness to sacrifice was void. Once succumbing to the fact that I was not going to be the next Jodie Foster, I decided I would become a graphic designer. I pursued an art degree, but never the graphic design. I simply enjoyed painting, drawing and reading art history. I became burnt out on this creative aspect on my life and decided to give acting another go. Then I realized what I should have known all those years ago: I wanted to be a writer. But I had nothing to say, nothing to write about, so I decided to go back for another degree and write about what I read. Hence, the English Literature degree. My fascination with language and grammar led to the decision to become an editor, which I've recently let go of. I do want to be a writer but I know my fiction lacks originality, depth, skill, etc. I have nothing special to offer. So I must now be content with my trite and dull musings put out on the Internet for all the world to read, but which no one will.