Recently, I have been overwhelmingly introspective and involuntarily outgoing, all too conscious of the words I have said and the words I haven't said, and not conscious enough of the words I choose to say. I wanted to write earlier, in hopes of flushing out some muddled thoughts, utilizing this whole public blog thing as a sort of self-constructed mandate to be more explanatory, but after thinking too hard about all of it, I sort of just laughed and stopped thinking. After all, who the hell do I think I am, thinking about me so often?
Is too much introspection selfish? I am not proud of my pride, but I won't deny it—there is some sort of strange triumph I feel in giving time and respect to my thoughts, to allowing myself a few moments of reflection in days in which there should be no such leisure, but it is shameful and silly at the same time. Who am I to think that what I do is worth thinking about?
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