"I've always indulged in my life. If you want to do something, and you know that you shouldn't, that just means you want it. It means that if you don't do it this time, you're going to want it the next time. It's going to knock on your door." 'It's funny because I've been bombarded with readings for classes that unanimously voice that moderation is the highest virtue. This is also funny because when I was asked, 'what is the highest human virtue?' I answered that it's moderation of desires.' "But I've always indulged. In tenth to eleventh grade, I was in a relationship, and I let it subsume myself. I used to just get back at one and do homework until three, just barely doing it. During senior summer, I just partied. My life consisted of drinking, socializing, playing billiard and video games, and drinking more. I wanted to, and I could, so I did. To oblivion, literally. Then now I find myself hoping to indulge in this, and I consciously thought to myself that I will indulge. I had a little crisis and aversion to plunging too deep, then I am yet again steadily sinking into it. At one point it will become easier. After indulgence you can always say, 'I've been there, done that and felt this,' and just be done with it." This is my self-consolation for not working hard in college. There are too many beautiful things about being with people and creating memories. Something too beautiful and limited to college that I cannot spare. This might be a foolish hypothesis. This is a self-justification for my indulgence and I am quite at terms with it. I'll be done with the indulgence in less than two years regardless of what I want. 'This long and foolish way works for me. Besides, indulgent desires make me feel alive and content.' It's a drive void of connotations of responsibility. It's more satisfying than liberating. I think the former is cooler.


Mothagesso.