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It’s either very late at night or ridiculously early in the morning.  I have a midterm practical in approximately eight hours, yet here I sit blogging.  Why do I do this?  I see the nature of the problem and the obvious solution.  What possible reason could I have for staying up regardless of what is wise?  I am tired, sleepy, fatigued, and in fact just plain lazy.  I’m struggling not to fail my chemistry lab.  I like being alone in my bedroom in my enormous bed while the fish tank hums its comforting lullaby.  These things summon me to my slumber with collective reason and affirmation of what I know is good for me.  Why, then, do I persist in my night-owl haunt of a parlour that holds no more interest to me than does an empty popsicle wrapper?

Obsession.  I am obsessed with myself and I continue to waste time spilling my thoughts because the notion that my mind is valuable, that this will be read and adored, is all too attractive for me to ignore.  There is pride in having organized my thoughts and published them for all the world to see, despite the realist in me that nags in the back of my mind, telling me, “Nobody cares, Brienna.  Nobody will read, and your time will only be wasted.”  I respond on the contrary.  “No,” I say.  “I care, and that’s enough reason to go on.”  And it is.

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One Comment

  1. Geze, I’m a bloody narcicist.


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