Breathing Dreams Like Air

My dreams, are constantly changing, so much so, that I don't ever feel like I can be one person.

I always feel that I am several people who have passed through one lifetime, and occupy the reality known as Kamillah's life.

My dreams have shifted again.  

I'm starting to contemplate, if I can actually be a writer.  Just a writer.  It's what I want to do.  Seriously now.  

Part of the problem however, is time management.  

For instance, ideally, I should aim to complete my manuscript by September.  What am I saying, I have to complete my manuscript by September.  But my manuscript has a maximum word count of 40,000 words.  When did 40,000 words become the standard length of a novel?  I think mine would better suit about 120,000, but hey I struggle to write 6000 words so what am I saying?  My manuscript tutor says that I should jump into the action sooner, but honestly, I think that is only to meet the 40,000 word quota.  I think this is why a lot of books are poor; they have elaborate beginnings (for a 100,000 word novel), but they have poor middles and ridiculous ends as they try to meet the word count of a 40,000 word novel.  

Struggles.

I went back to the countryside this weekend.  I don't know how many times I have to go back to realise that I don't belong there anymore.  Honestly I don't know if I belong anywhere, but it's definitely not there.  

Dreams, like life twist, sometimes mutating.  This dream is taking over, and I'm wondering how long it will take to fulfil, and if it is achieved, will happiness follow?  Or at least contentment?

I want to go on a Writer's Retreat.  I had wanted to go on a girls holiday this summer, but that dream is fading, and fast becoming redundant.  New goals, are overtaking old desires.  I want to go on at least two writers retreats this year, if possible both before September.  On each writers retreat I have to complete 35,000 words.  That, added to the 40,000 word requirement for my MA, plus the 10,000 words I would have already submitted equals approximately 120,000 words. 

Cripes.  

Meanwhile, Real Uni's deadlines are all here.  Are all upon me.  I have exactly five weeks from today to complete every assessment, every presentation and exam.  Seven assessments in fact.  FIVE WEEKS.  Ah.  Ah.  No.

But this time, it has to be a yes. 

My god, it's going to be impossible.  There's no chance in heck that I can get it all done.  I'm going to have to live in Uni or something.  And even that won't be enough.  

Fear.  But worse than fear, is the pressure that if I don't complete these seven assessments, in five weeks, I won't be able to write this summer.  Instead, I will spend my summer working on resits, paying bills, and generally hating my life (as I have done each summer for the past 5 years).

I have to overcome the nightmare that is Real Uni, so that I can attempt the dream that is occupying my mind.  Becoming a writer.

Ah, pressure.