38: psychology

I spent the weekend reading a book that I found very dull, a real drag to get through, but I made myself finish it and then I felt incredibly relieved. I should probably be more willing to abandon a book I'm not enjoying; I can only think of maybe two books in the last five years that I've put down halfway through and never finished. (One was A Glastonbury Romance, the other was The Emporer's New Mind. I can put them down but I just can't let them go.) This probably means I'm obsessive and masochistic. Sometimes I convince myself that it'll get better as it goes along. This never happens. It often gets worse. I'm a delusional obsessive masochist. Goddamn. On top of that, boring books also have the miserable side effect of convincing me that I'm doomed to end up writing really boring books myself. Any book would be better than no book, eh, I reply, but then I ignore myself, as I am a delusional obsessive masochist and not worthy of my own attention. Oh god. The doom. The lack of caffeine. The horror.

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