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Reading Kathryn Schulz's "Being Wrong" Is Messing With My Brain In The Most Horrible W

This might just be the maca powder that I mixed into my morning parfait talking, or the physio/psycho-logical anticipation that builds from the sensation of having to pee really bad (I think I've drunk no fewer than three pots of tea already this AM), or maybe I'm just on a manic upswing after spending the latter part of yesterday in the doldrums (which I inexplicably proceeded to remedy by watching, back-to-back, two of the most one-two-gut-punch-faith-in-humanity-shattering films in recent memory--Room and Spotlight), but my mind is racing with several new project ideas that I need to hurry up and start working on before I let them slip by like the countless opportunities that have been carried away in time's ambling but relentless current while I sit passively on my log of security, stubbornly moored to my fears of failure/success/rejection/acceptance while the cacophony of creative pursuits--currently a jumble of story ideas and writing pitches and repertoire selections and French verb conjugations--crescendos in my head, desperately clamoring, like the pee in my bladder, for release and relief.

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