Robin_Starveling
Virgil
- Joined
- Jun 7, 2025
- Posts
- 102
I'm very sensitive to caffeine. Even a single cup can delay my bedtime by hours. That's why I try my best to resist this forbidden fruit, but being only human, I sometimes fail miserably and find myself tossing and turning long past midnight.
Trying to force yourself to sleep usually achieves the exact opposite, so what better way to spend the hours of involuntary wakefulness than with some quality reading?
So I turn on the bedside lamp, fluff my pillow against the headboard, and ceremoniously select one of the finest categories on Lit. I scroll through the Top List of the past twelve months and, with a flutter of excitement, step into the Hall of Fame...
I make sure that beyond an impressive score, the story also has solid supporting stats: plenty of views, favorites, and comments. Just to be safe, I take a quick peek at the comment section to confirm that the praise flows as lavishly as befits a true literary masterpiece. Then, with a satisfied, slightly idiotic grin, I proceed to the first page.
The opening almost never disappoints. Our celebrated authors certainly know how to turn a phrase! Line after line of sheer talent blend into a kind of literary music. The writing's so eloquent, so elevated, that somewhere deep into the first page a small miracle occurs: my overwhelmed head begins to nod, and before I know it, I wake up the next morning from the healthiest sleep imaginable.
One can hardly complain about a good night’s sleep, especially when fully aware of its marvelous physical benefits. Yet I still feel a twinge of guilt for having abandoned a masterpiece midway, and at the first opportunity I return to the text. Still, the same strange enchantment repeats itself. Though this time I have no excuse for fatigue, my head again begins to droop, and once more I enjoy the bliss of an impromptu afternoon nap.
And here’s the thing. Am I the only one? Am I the only reader who, though perfectly aware that somewhere ahead await a few juicy moments, a cathartic climax, and a thoroughly satisfying happy ending, somehow never makes it to the promised land? Does your rebellious brain, too, refuse, for reasons unknown, to go with the stream and enjoy what must surely be a one-of-a-kind masterpiece?
Trying to force yourself to sleep usually achieves the exact opposite, so what better way to spend the hours of involuntary wakefulness than with some quality reading?
So I turn on the bedside lamp, fluff my pillow against the headboard, and ceremoniously select one of the finest categories on Lit. I scroll through the Top List of the past twelve months and, with a flutter of excitement, step into the Hall of Fame...
I make sure that beyond an impressive score, the story also has solid supporting stats: plenty of views, favorites, and comments. Just to be safe, I take a quick peek at the comment section to confirm that the praise flows as lavishly as befits a true literary masterpiece. Then, with a satisfied, slightly idiotic grin, I proceed to the first page.
The opening almost never disappoints. Our celebrated authors certainly know how to turn a phrase! Line after line of sheer talent blend into a kind of literary music. The writing's so eloquent, so elevated, that somewhere deep into the first page a small miracle occurs: my overwhelmed head begins to nod, and before I know it, I wake up the next morning from the healthiest sleep imaginable.
One can hardly complain about a good night’s sleep, especially when fully aware of its marvelous physical benefits. Yet I still feel a twinge of guilt for having abandoned a masterpiece midway, and at the first opportunity I return to the text. Still, the same strange enchantment repeats itself. Though this time I have no excuse for fatigue, my head again begins to droop, and once more I enjoy the bliss of an impromptu afternoon nap.
And here’s the thing. Am I the only one? Am I the only reader who, though perfectly aware that somewhere ahead await a few juicy moments, a cathartic climax, and a thoroughly satisfying happy ending, somehow never makes it to the promised land? Does your rebellious brain, too, refuse, for reasons unknown, to go with the stream and enjoy what must surely be a one-of-a-kind masterpiece?
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