So, here I am, nearly two thirds of the way through the book, more than a week ahead of my schedule.
I consider myself a sprinter at tasks. I’ll describe myself thus: I lose interest. After a big burst of energy at the outset, I’ll wander off to something else. As evidence, naturally, I’ll point to my other blogs, started around the time that I started this or sometime before, languishing and sputtering on the Internet.
However, here I am in the marathon of reading this book, pushing myself through.
I honestly thought that by this time, I’d be a week or two behind schedule, and Miranda would be nearly finished. It’s nearly the other way around. It’s as if I have something to prove to myself in completing it. And, oddly, I have the pressure of whatever audience is watching these posts, strangers or friends, pushing me onward.
I’m still not convinced that I’ll finish. I won’t be convinced until I do, and at that point I can hold this record up to my future self-doubting self and remind him that I do have the capacity if I put my mind to it, I do still have the ability to prove something to myself; the struggle might be in finding something I want to prove to myself, but with how trivial “reading a really long, textually thick book” might be, surely I can compel myself to more lofty goals.
Who is John Galt, anyway?
Some guy who had a lot of promise a long time ago and got tied up in his principles and disappeared.
Indeed.