I have the suspicion that I sometimes take myself too seriously. I guess that's always been my temperament: I sometimes love to over-think things and situations, mainly because I fear failure, just as I fear being wrong. The ironic thing is that, notwithstanding all these insane mental precautions, I still end up burning in the end. Naturally, what am I left to do, but to perform a lengthy post-mortem, and brood? It's a vicious cycle.

I guess I just like being tragic (or dramatic, as some friends call it). Or maybe, better still: self-conscious. Or even self-absorbed. After all, it gives me something to write about! (Com'mon, admit it, it's much easier to write about pain, tragedy and failure than happiness and joy. . . . it's closer to the human condition, I think. And much more universal.) Misery loves company.

Or is it because I just like dwelling on the past too much? Or cannot learn to forgive myself?

I dunno. Just thinking out loud. (Told you I was a nutcase!)