It is impatience I'm experiencing. Today I haven't been in a good condition. I am not experiencing any flow, except for that one time reading Toohey's statement on ruling people by preaching sacrifice to them. Now that I'm writing, it's made me much calmer. I need to write. Especially when I'm reading. This is the part that generates, the part that is productive.
"I want to live, I want to breathe, I want to be part of the human race." Does this contradict with one's self-awareness, that is not subject to other's acknowledgement? I don't know, and I probably won't know in many years.
The novel is near its end and I'm beyond confusion (is this correct? I want to say "I'm very confused". just trying different ways...). The characters that I admired and could relate to are all in dire straits. Yet there's a difference in their situation. Wynand and Keating sold their soul for others, whereas Roark held on to his "self" at the price of losing the whole world. The former are in a psychological plight, the latter a physical one. There's scarcely any change happened to Dominique. She's beyond my current understanding. She's always been so indifferent. To me, she's dead inside. But I'm curious about what's going to happen to her.
