i'm a bit of an obsessor.
i don't just think about something like a kid reading a book--i don't flip through it and toss it aside.
i think about something like a 6-month-old child plays with a stuffed animal. i chew on it. i squeeze it, i examine its parts, pull its legs off, pull the stuffing out and eat it. i might toss it aside, but i'll always come back to it, stretching and poking and tearing it until it's not even recognizable as what it was when i first got ahold of it.
and that's why i can't even really tell you what the main object of my obsession is. i can't even tell anymore. my mind is on hyper-drive and it's everywhere and it's here and then there and everywhere. i'm a child leaving a trail of maimed stuffed animals all over the living room.
i do think daily about writing a book though. it's the thought i think about and then leave alone because it's too big for me right now. i have to grow into that one. maybe tomorrow.
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