I just finished reading this trashy romance novel this morning. I fell out after work yesterday and so once my nap was over, I couldn't get back to sleep until fucking 4 am so I pretty much read the book in like 5 hours. Whatever. That's not the point.
The point is the chick in the book (who it turns out was real, which doesn't usually happen in historical romances) was supposedly "beloved of the gods". A lot of good that did her, lol. Her mother was raped and killed by Roman soldiers, her husband, the king, was poisoned by his mistress's sons, her kingdom was destroyed and she was forced to be the mistress of a Roman emperor. If that's how the gods "belove" someone, no wonder human life is so often filled with misery and bullshit.
Anyway, I'm reading this book about this poor woman who was led to believe that she was so favored by the gods and so kept taking chances and whatnot, thinking that things would work out and it reminded me (vaguely) of someone: me. Lol! And I don't even consider myself favored by any deity. So why the hell do I still keep trying?
Probably for the same reason she did, poor actual woman from the 3rd century. Because if you stop trying, you might as well "take a dagger to your breast from the shame of it all."
I wonder what February is going to do to me. ;-)