The rooms are messy, so are the thoughts in your mind. The breeze blows in the wrong direction, making the grasses on the meadow like the creature lurking around the corner, messy, and non pragmatic. You don’t approve of the idea of such anomaly, you loathe surreal ideas. But again, do you?
You are told to draw out a perfect straight line without having used a scale, but your linear motion of mind creates a slope along the left side of the y-axis, resulting in a negative value of tangent, thus refuting the idea of ruling out a ruler. But somehow in your pseudo-adventurous mind, you want to take the risk of accomplishing the task without any perfection, oh you do!
Your TA advises you to take Physics seriously and roughly makes you screech through equations all over your notebook, creating tears and terrors in your empirical mind. You don’t worry over not getting Kepler’s third law, because let’s face it, you have raw and unbridled passion for astrophysics just as you do for music. What you worry about though is your notebook’s shredded holes, due to the haste of your pencil scratching, making equations and sending your perfection to exile.
Your source code doesn’t look so neat and tidy, rather it looks scruffy, “disorganized” to put it in a prim and proper manner. You want to write comments on the side of your compiler, but you worry that it’s only going to put the compiler in a deep mess. You fall into an infinite loop yourself, theperfectionistinyourmind.exe does not respond.
The unsettling old lady with cats in your newspaper committee, who also happens to be your Editor, expects you write 500 words on a topic, no less. You laugh at her command, scrutinizing the word limit when she herself is a screaming example of mock tidiness.
The lady inside your persona, she is perfect, yet unbalanced. Every once in a while she wants to be break free, but refrains from doing so due to society’s honor trials and her own maintenance of charisma. Your subconscious is always vigil and agile, your nimble footprints always find perfection where it goes. It scrunches its nose, furrows its brows and mentally pity all the random anomalies out there for not having such a well maintained practical sense. It pities, also envies on the other hand.
Your mind is a contradiction of self colliding emotions, with pressures from non-existent phenomenas for being perfect, and fantasies of being an abstaining adventurous. You are a product of your own mind, contradictions aside. You sucked everything out of the Pandora’s box, except the underlying hope. Because the Gods were successful to shut the box to make you suffer, your mind full with hasty hesitation. Because you love a two sided argument, why not eh? You’re a priceless pedantic in vain aren’t you?
