Intentional delusion.

Today was a good day.
In all probability, I most likely ate more sushi this afternoon than I have in the entirety of my life to date.
At least, it felt like it.
I love sushi.

This week, I've personally validated an AP English truth:
It is a devotion to efficiency that saves us (Conrad).

When I'm working on something that devours all of my time (ex: the blood drive), I feel this artificial kind of fulfillment. Though I know what I'm doing probably doesn't matter, the sheer volume of work allows me to tap into this semi-psychotic state where I delude myself into the belief that I'm accomplishing something. It's fake, but it's something to hold on to. For example, last night I found it strangely rewarding to spend five hours inscribing every single name on my list onto 150 appointment cards and organizing them alphabetically by teacher, regionally by area of school, and numerically by room number to facilitate delivery.

The tedious repetition of the work saves me from thinking about the other things, the things that eat away at all my defenses and leave me vulnerable.

Like college.
Or that boy.
Or the perpetual fear that maybe no matter how much of my work ethic I pour into something I really wish to achieve, I'm going to be found wanting, and in the end none of what I've "accomplished" will mean anything.
What if I'm just not good enough?
Maybe I can't break mediocrity.
That's the scary truth I can't let myself realize, so I hide behind my immaculate grades and countless homework hours, persuading myself that it actually matters.