Valentine's Anomie

That's my old Paladin on the right there. Yes, I am such a geek that I used to draw my own character portraits. And let's talk about geekiness...
I have a seven-page paper to write on Jane Eyre and Victorian society, but I can't get moving. It's due tomorrow night; I have a nice thesis statement, a rough idea, sources lined up and citations highlighted for use...but I can't get writing.
I'm in the proverbial funk.
Profoundly less than satisfied.
Do you think that, maybe (work with me here)...do you think maybe growing up as a total book-worm can ruin somebody's life? Maybe lead to some inflated ideas about how things should be?
Blame it on my middle-school obsession with Tolkien, followed by Robert E. Howard, followed by Michael Moorcock, Frank Herbert, Harlan Ellison, John Bellairs and Ursula LeGuin...all of that followed by another thirty years of voraciously reading every book I could get my hands on: real life falls a little flat, don't you think?
Where's the dramatic climax? Where's the heroic sacrifice that saves the day? Where's the love that topples kingdoms and lasts for all eternity?
Real life just kind of...goes on. No structure. No plot. No denoument, no climax.
Blah.
Even better:
meh.