I really don't know what I win at but I do. Do you know what else confuses me? Books. Has anyone read "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac? It's all right, but it's sort of odd because it protrays women in bad lights and goes on random tangeants about 2 guys travelling the states for the sole purpose of a) finding new girls to bang, or b) finding new ways to get stoned. Maybe I only hated the book because of the fact that it was required to read, but that's beside the point.
Books I've read that I enjoy would take up more time and energy than I care to take right now to list. Suffice it to say I love all books, at all times. Sometimes they are my life, I breathe in air of lost or fantistic continents and only eat food from the ancient cities of Tortall. I love to write after I have read something that has inspired me, like "The Sight" has been doing. That's the book I am reading currently, and I was bad and read the end ahead of time and can tell you that it's the sweetest and best ending to a book I have ever read in my entire life. I love it so much.
It is sad that I live inside a fantasy realm sometimes, but when I was little it was my only coping mechanism. Now, it is habit. It's instinct for me to dive headfirst into a book not only for pleasure, but to flee. Am I crazy for thinking this? Perhaps. But it is amazing how many times madness and reason coincide, is it not?
Alizea Community Member 
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