It’s late in the day. You read something, but it doesn’t process. You read it again, it doesn’t process. You read it again, it doesn’t process. You read it again, it doesn’t process. The words are now scribbles, letters are jumbled, unintelligible and it’s impossible to make out the shapes.
You try reading that same thing the next day. These aren’t the words you read. Where were the words you read?
You’re telling your friends about your weekend, but your mind remains blank. You didn’t do anything over the weekend. There’s nothing to remember, afterall.
Working means taking up all your concentration. You start in the morning; that should give you enough time to finish what you need by lunch. It’s half past 8pm now.
You’re at home, relaxing. There’s this great post, you scroll down to like the post. The heart is already red. You do not remember this post.
You’re recalling (finally, you’re able to recall) that story you wanted to tell your friend. You talk with them and oh look there’s a bird outside and– what were you saying?
“Don’t forget,” they tell you. You promise them you won’t. It’s five minutes later. You barely remember talking to them.
Your things are finally organized. Your room is neat and clean and everything is tidy. You can’t remember where anything is.
You find a new interest, a new hobby. You’re excited, it’s one that will stay with you forever. You pick up books, supplies, you research and you read. Less than a month later, your interest is not there.
You have a brilliant idea for something. Hurriedly, you look for something to write it down with. You lose your idea.
You’re focused, “for once in my life,” you say, exasperated to yourself. You dive into your task, and you are getting work done. You can’t stop working. A sense of dread falls over you at the idea of what could consume you if you stop working. You continue working.