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I wish I were fearless. Fearless and courageous are two different things. Courageous is doing something even if you’re scared. Fearless is not being scared in the first place. Courageous? I hope so. Fearless? Not a chance. Being fearless would make everything a lot simpler. It might be unhappier in the end though, because you wouldn’t be scared of making mistakes. Of course, if you do just as many things while being courageous then you’re still screwed. You’re just tougher. As far as being respected, I’d rather be courageous. But I’m not sure I’m always that. Gaah, why am I thinking so much about things that don’t matter??? I’ll never be fearless. I don’t think anyone ever has been. And if they have, they were just stupid. Maybe I wouldn’t rather be fearless. But if I’m not fearless, I better make up for it somehow.
For example, at my black belt test. It’s in 5 days, 12 hours, and 11 minutes. Hey, they count down like that until Christmas, right? Anyway, I’m going to do well. I have to. I’m scared to death, and that’s exactly why I have to do it. Of course, I’m more scared of backing out. Pride and all that. But really, why do I always take the hard way out? Or the hard way in? Because I do both, you know. I think. And the worst part is, I think I’m proud of it. Like I’m proud of my stubbornness, or of my pride. AGGH! If I were Catholic, I’d be saying about a hundred “Hail Mary”s right now, and probably fasting for a week. I think Pride is one of their seven deadly sins. I don’t remember what all of them are: Lust, Gluttony, Sloth, Pride, Wrath, Envy, and Greed. Let me see, how many am I guilty of? Not gluttony. Not sloth, I don’t think. Not really greed. Wrath? Hell yes. Envy? Even more so than wrath. Lust? How do you even define lust? Eh, I don’t know, but by my definition, no. And I believe I mentioned pride. Not vanity though. I don’t think I’m vain. I don’t know. I don’t know what I am.
Rather happy right now, despite the potential Hail Mary’s I would get should I become Catholic (which I won’t).
I should go finish up my math. Today is such a light week for homework. It’s so cool. I love it.
All the same, my black belt test is making me nervous. Everyone says I’ll do well. Even the teacher says he’s not worried about me. But still, I’m not sure. I’m not ready to get my black belt, I’m not ready to go to college, I’m not ready for anything. What am I doing where I am? Is anybody ever ready for this kind of thing? Or is it just me?
I like Hamlet. The movie, anyway. The one with Mel Gibson. (He’s a good actor) I haven’t read the book yet. I should. When I have time. Ha, like I don’t have time now. But I don’t have the book right now.
Saturday at the black belt workout, my assistant teacher said he felt sorry for the first college guy who tried to make a move on me, or something like that. That was funny. He’s an awesome guy. I’m glad he’ll be at my test.
Actually, if you think about it, I have “ideal conditions” for my test. It’s in my own do-jang. (That’s rare.) My best friend is going to be there, my family is going to be there, my teachers are both going to be there, and I might be ready. Can I reasonably ask for anything more? I don’t think so. Although if I had a little more time that would be nice.
Last night, I dreamed about a totally badass thunderstorm, and there were like four lightning streaks that hit all at once right next to my window, and I sat down on the floor and asked myself if I was alive. I wasn’t sure. You could see the wind blowing the clouds into all these ominous shapes, like mammatus (ever seen mammatus? It’s awesome.) Anyway, I wish I could see a storm like that, even though it was kind of scary. I wish that could be called a kind of fearless.
I really wish I could get into Middle-earth right now. Think about it. It would be so cool. I’d like to be a human, like I am now. Humans were the bravest, even if they weren’t the smartest. You know, I think every person thinks the type of person they are is the best kind to be. I think maybe they’re all a little proud of themselves, in a way. That might seem insensitive to say, especially to a person who hates themselves. But they wouldn’t keep hating themselves if they didn’t think it was the best thing to do. Otherwise they would change it, wouldn’t they? Really, in the end, everyone does what they think is best, even if it’s only best for themselves.
I hope I’m not doing only that. I hope I’m a good person. I hope I’m not screwing everything up. I hope for too many things.
Anyway, back to my other thought about Middle-earth. That last thought was getting to be depressing. I’d like to live like Aragorn. I’d like to die like Boromir. I don’t want to die soon, mind you. But if I have to die, I want to die bravely. He died braver than anyone else. I want to die fighting. It’s an odd thing I’ve got. I can’t help it.
I’m not quite satisfied with this. I need something different. I need adventure on an epic scale. I suppose you could call this madness, of a sort. Mad for adventure. Mad for love. Mad for comfort, and at the same time, mad for change, craziness, war. Mad for wildness. Just mad, maybe. I feel like I could take down a whole army right now.
Writing stories about other people isn’t good enough. I need to live a story. If I could write a story of my life the way I wish it was, I would already be fighting, fearless, saving the world.
There’s one problem. Being in love and wanting whatever it is that I want – if you can find a name for what I want, I need it – don’t go together. And I am one, and I want the other. And I can’t have both, because nothing like that ever lasts. There’s no middle ground, and I wouldn’t want it if I could have it. Everything about me is impossible. I need to do one impossible thing. Just one. I need both of those. If I do one impossible thing, can’t I do another? The need for two things at once is driving me crazy. I can’t straighten myself out. Tell me I’m not truly crazy. Tell me I’m sane in some way.
I’m not unhappy. I’m somewhere between a war yell and a laugh. Where’s the middle ground in that?
If I were to write a story of my life the way I wish it were, I would have two side-by-side stories. One for adventure, and one for love. And then I would have to choose one. And I don’t know if I could.
No. That’s not true. I could choose. I know which one I would choose, without a doubt. Even if the story didn’t end well. And I’d be scared to death, just like I am now. But I wouldn’t feel sorry I’d made the choice, no matter what happened. As a matter of fact, I’m not sorry about the choice I’ve made now.
The writing of the stories will be interesting.