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procrastination-- the dream killer ___2003-08-27 - 10:49 p.m.

Procrastination is the dream killer.

I just realized that.

It could have something to do with my having heard an Atrates of Dune spout "Fear is the mind killer" from the speakers of my television. Though it is true, it is not only what has held me back.

Yes, fear was a catalyst that led me to that which I am greatest at . . .

. . . pushing aside what I can do another day.

And because of it, my dreams may yet require an artisan to carve a tombstone bearing that reminder for all to see.

"Procrastination is the dream killer."

If I had a dream, then that would be the name of its murderer.

What do you want to do with your life?

I've ignored this question for far too long-- my whole life of nearly 21 years. When I was younger, it was easier to make up an answer. But as time flew by my lies became more vague-- virtually unknown even to me.

When I was young, I wanted to be everything. Especially be something unconventional like an artist. Hn. I think once I even wanted to be a comedienne or a clown. Those are the only ones that I really remember. Hell, even an actress or a singer/dancer. And then later, thanks to my fifth grade teacher, I wanted to be something which I never expected.

A writer.

Since then, yes, I have wanted to be that. But somewhere along the way, I got the idea in my head that that was an unrealistic dream. Pure fantasy.

"A writer of WHAT!?!" A voice countered. Of novels? Of stories? Romance? Screenplays? For television? Songs or poetry?

All of it.

My idealistic heart said that I would write anything as long as it was worthwhile and could entertain or inspire others. Too bad my mind could never match what my heart saw.

I wanted to do SO much. And now ... I fear that I will continue to waste my life as I have.

Recently, I saw a glimmer of hope. I thought, maybe if I can't write a bestseller then maybe I could create something more. Hell, could I design/ write the story for the next "big thing" in videogames?

Hn. Videogames. To anyone that could seem childish.

But for a second, it was plausible. I wanted to go to college and learn how to program or design the worlds I could view in my mind. For crying out loud, I even had the "Art Institute of Colorado" on the phone telling me that I was "perfect for their school." It was clay to be molded. And then, as clay often does, the dream dried out.

All thanks to one letter.

"...You are ineligible for finacial aid."

Believe it or not, I cried. Hell, inside I still am. After squandering what little money I had to my name on a sparse few classes, I ran out. "Don't worry," my mom told me. "We'll get the money somehow." So, I applied for aid. But thanks to my inconsistent performance during my single semester at the communtiy college I was enrolled in, I may have just fucked away my own future.

Hn. It sucks being "dumb" like me.

"If only..." God, I can't stop thinking it. All I can do is call the couseling office at the school tomorrow and ask them bluntly, "Is there anything I can do to return to college?"

And God, the mindkiller makes me doubt the answer. But I must ask myself...

...can I continue to let the mind and dream killers alike ruin my life?

I wish I knew the answer.

Hopefully, I will know soon enough.

In the end, it's pathetic, really. The only "thing" that I can tell this pitiful truth to is a keyboard attached to a computer. Just a blank white screen.

~~

~~

Duo no Tsuin