Obsessions
Being obsessed with animals is cute.
Being obsessed with goal-chasing is inspirational.
Being obsessed with learning provokes praise from those surrounding.
Being obsessed with image? Pathetic.
Being obsessed with the small details of each day? Anal-retentive.
Being obsessed with anything short of sunshine? Provokes pity from those surrounding.
In short, obsession is bad. Obsession is sweet. Obsession is controlling. Real obsession, that is.
It wraps its long and twisted arms around your neck and it wrings and wrings.
Obsession does not just show up like a unexpected houseguest; It slithers into bed with you. Slowly at first, so slowly that you are not even aware.
And then eventually, you feel its presence lingering beside you in the night. You should probably check on your dog at the foot of your bed, it mentions. Is she still breathing? It asks.
And then it is sitting across from you at breakfast. That's a lot of syrup. It observes as you pour the sticky substance across your pancakes. The teaspoon to measure each drop is just in that drawer. Aren't you going to Greece soon?
And then its walking with you out of the front door on your way to work.
Check the stove. It nags. Just once more.
Check on the dogs before you leave. They don't have their collars on, do they? What if they choke?
And then you do. Just to be certain.
And then, you're almost out of the door, only to be greeted by its ugly, but reassuring face once more.
We should check again. It encourages. Just check the stove one more time. And we'll both feel better.
A slave to the suggestions, you cannot help but agree.
So, you turn and make one more round of the house.
"1, 2, 3, 4..." You count out loud, checking that each knob is indeed turned to "Off".
O always tells you that if you say it out loud, you can remember that you checked it. It's like speaking it out loud makes it more real; Makes you believe it more.
Except it doesn't work.
The sinking feeling hits you as you are walking back towards the front door, making sure each candle is blown out on the short walk there, even though no candles were lit this morning. You're late for work now.
"I should probably check on the dogs once more, right?" You ask.
Obsession smiles, shining its pointy and cracked teeth.
After all, she's just looking out for you.
Being obsessed with goal-chasing is inspirational.
Being obsessed with learning provokes praise from those surrounding.
Being obsessed with image? Pathetic.
Being obsessed with the small details of each day? Anal-retentive.
Being obsessed with anything short of sunshine? Provokes pity from those surrounding.
In short, obsession is bad. Obsession is sweet. Obsession is controlling. Real obsession, that is.
It wraps its long and twisted arms around your neck and it wrings and wrings.
Obsession does not just show up like a unexpected houseguest; It slithers into bed with you. Slowly at first, so slowly that you are not even aware.
And then eventually, you feel its presence lingering beside you in the night. You should probably check on your dog at the foot of your bed, it mentions. Is she still breathing? It asks.
And then it is sitting across from you at breakfast. That's a lot of syrup. It observes as you pour the sticky substance across your pancakes. The teaspoon to measure each drop is just in that drawer. Aren't you going to Greece soon?
And then its walking with you out of the front door on your way to work.
Check the stove. It nags. Just once more.
Check on the dogs before you leave. They don't have their collars on, do they? What if they choke?
And then you do. Just to be certain.
And then, you're almost out of the door, only to be greeted by its ugly, but reassuring face once more.
We should check again. It encourages. Just check the stove one more time. And we'll both feel better.
A slave to the suggestions, you cannot help but agree.
So, you turn and make one more round of the house.
"1, 2, 3, 4..." You count out loud, checking that each knob is indeed turned to "Off".
O always tells you that if you say it out loud, you can remember that you checked it. It's like speaking it out loud makes it more real; Makes you believe it more.
Except it doesn't work.
The sinking feeling hits you as you are walking back towards the front door, making sure each candle is blown out on the short walk there, even though no candles were lit this morning. You're late for work now.
"I should probably check on the dogs once more, right?" You ask.
Obsession smiles, shining its pointy and cracked teeth.
After all, she's just looking out for you.
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