Obsessing is like watching a gerbil sprint on a wheel—fascinating, exhausting, and entirely pointless. Picture it: a tiny ball of fluff with more energy than sense, committing wholeheartedly to a Sisyphean task of going nowhere fast. Similarly, when you’re obsessing over something—a text message, that awkward thing you said four days ago, or whether you’ve left the stove on—you might as well be hopping on a wheel yourself. Round and around your thoughts go, powered by caffeine and sheer irrational determination.
The gerbil doesn’t know when to stop, and, frankly, neither do you. It doesn’t matter that the wheel squeaks (thanks to your overthinking brain) or that your common sense shouts, “Get off already!” No, you’re committed. Sure, someone outside the glass cage might see the futility, but from your perspective, every spin feels like it might just lead to enlightenment or, at the very least, an answer to “why your boss looked at you weirdly in the meeting.”
And here’s the kicker—when the wheel finally does stop, you’re left dizzy, disoriented, and unsure if anything you just did even mattered (spoiler alert: it didn’t). But, like a loyal gerbil, you’ll hop right back on at the first whiff of uncertainty. Because if obsessing teaches you anything, it’s this—self-inflicted mental treadmill workouts are an art form, and clearly, you’re training for the hamster Olympics. Congratulations on the effort. Results? Debatable.
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