"This time next year?"

The words echo in my head. Although I said them, her voice is attached to them. This time, next year... next year seems so far. Too far.

I am a complete and total failure when it comes to long-term goals. I lament the lack of mental fortitude on my part to complete projects that would ask more that a smidgen of my potential. Now comes another, and the stakes are high. The stakes are so high.

"It's just a school," says a half-spirit, his voice tired and a perpetual yawn. "You are smart enough. You don't need to go there.. It's just Berkeley. Besides, you can't do it."

"Would you button it?" Pishon responds, but he raises his hand to stifle an involuntary exhale. "I wanna go! It sounds wonderful! Musicians and friends. Literature Heads and Math Wizards! Can't you imagine?! Why don't we try our hardest?"

"But people better than us haven't gotten in!" says the nameless voice. "What hope do we have?"

"More than enough, with you gone." Israel snaps. "And stop saying 'we', like you are a part of us. I know who you are, Sloth. I've grown tired of you, you saboteur. You have no business being here."

"Oh, off your high horse!" He steps out of the shadows. "I've been here since before you were conceived. I know this soul inside and out. I bring him pleasure when his mind is blank and his body is lax. I  have brought out the contentment in stillness."

"Oh, so wrong, boyo," Atticus objects. "You have plagued him, kept him dependent and hostile. You have allowed his to grow weak and insecure with your partners in crime. You do not belong. He loves you no more. He has grown tired of you."

Atticus, Israel, Pishon, such wonderful protectors. They are the friends I will need as I head into this War. It has been a war of attrition, and I've been on the losing side, but I've got a star on the dark horizon, a promise and a deadline. Heading through the haze I must go. I must pack my bags.