There was a certain sense of unease opening the book. Before this, reading up on such things was more of a needful thing. Something you had to do because you had assignments to complete or exams to undertake. Now I’m flipping through the books, digesting every part of it because I want to. Because I need to know more. Because I want to tell the world what I know.
It didn’t bother me to know it’s become an obsession. It bothered me to know that it didn’t bother me. When the things you take for granted begin to border on obsessions, sometimes you got to ask yourself, who’s in the mirror staring back at you? Sometimes you know the answer. Sometimes it just eludes you all the same.
Sometimes you just think too much. Which probably happens when you spend the night sleeping on the very books you read through the night before in the hope that whatever you know will actually make sense later on.