46 Days

"he was a slave to his own moods and he felt that though he was capable of recklessness and audacity, he possessed neither courage, perseverance, nor self-respect"

- F. Scott Fitzgerald

One of my favorite aspects of reading is finding textual reflections of my thoughts or emotions. However, when a couple lines of text manage to encapsulate the essence of my nature in such a way that even I pause to say, "Damn, there I am," it's a bit disheartening. While relieved to be absolved of that particular burden, I'm daunted by my inability to verbalize my own angst and my reliance on the genius of a man with whom I have absolutely no relation, familial or otherwise.

edit: On second thought, I decided that F. Scott and I are kindred spirits.