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Some Kind Of Haunted

It's one of those days when I want to write. Those are rare to come by. Unfortunately, I don't have an idea to delve into. I have several mini-ideas, if you will, but none that is complete by itself. There was that trigger about originality of thought, if it exists, and the implications - but it was too fleeting and abstract a theory that I didn't wish to do a disservice to. Which landed me on the classics - human psychology and the ever-reducing attention span in our times. Another cul-de-sac. Ironic too, since I probably didn't deliberate enough on the subject.

I've harbored a dormant fear for years, which I see mobilizing in recent times. I have always dreaded losing the intellectually exploratory element of myself to the practicalities (and delusions) of life. Now that I reflect upon my thought patterns, there is cause for alarm. The signature of mediocrity is a chronic propensity to disorganize priorities. Regrettably, that is all I've been up to. I wouldn't go so far as to call my current occupations worthless, but they can hardly be called indispensable. What's worse is that despite knowing what I am doing, and the corrective measure that needs to be actioned upon, I passively watch myself wasting time away.

I know better than to vow immediate restitution. Addressal is often the first step in any journey though, especially an upward one. It's almost exciting to see what the future holds, with so many stark transformations in the offing.

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