It’s now 6am. I just finished a book an hour ago. After starting to read at 2am. Could I have behaved like a normal person and not binge read the whole book in one sitting? Probably. But then again, I have always been about the extremes. As I swing from the extreme highs to the extreme lows, I inevitably knock people who happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time off their feet. And that results in all parties getting hurt, including myself. At this hour, many people are getting up and getting ready to start their day. And here I lay, exhausted. In bed. Mind racing a hundred miles a minute. Heart aching that strange hollow ache that doesn’t seem to go away even if you ate a whole pint of ice-cream in one sitting. I’m not a Gryffindor. I lack the most distinctive quality, courage. Perhaps I fit in better with the Slytherins. Them with their cunning twisted little minds and the predisposition for doing the wrong things. God knows I’m always doing shit I shouldn’t be doing. Often with no idea as to why I was doing what I was doing. Or knowing that I would hurt someone if I were to do some things. And yet I do it anyway. Why? Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment. Maybe I’m too stupid to not repeat my mistakes. Maybe I’m foolish enough to think that there’s even a slight possibility of having a different outcome when I do the same shit. Brings to mind a certain quote by Einstein. Insane. That would probably explain why I keep doing what I do. My mind is racing faster than I can type. And unfortunately, the lack of sleep is catching up with me. My movements are sluggish. My eyes are drooping. I’m losing track of my thoughts as quickly as they materialise. Incoherent. Unintelligible. Disjointed. Helpless.