Obsessive. O’Melk was well aware that he was one of the most obsessive characters he had ever know; yes, well aware: after a whole week sleeping with the subject, he realized only three other people were more obsessive than he was (still is).

“What have I reached due to my obsessive manners?” though O’Melk, while staring at a blank, yet-to-be, post. He still could not find in himself a better man, even after all his learning years. No doubt he had learned, that’s for sure, but… was it enough? Would it ever be?

This thoughts would disturb his pace and his peace. Day and night.

Day.

And night.

It may be, indeed, quite hard to get some perspective. ”You can learn astronomy in a lifetime, natural history in three, literature in six,” he remembered reading once, embracing the fact that he would only have a lifetime to cling on. 

Obsessions, taking him from the plainest peace of mind to whirlwinds, emotional hurricanes. Sadness and happiness, a (not so) most improbable mixture. “Bipolarity? I wish,” was the recurring theme, the soundless voice he heard all the time. Really: all the time.

He reached a new, different level. Doing so always made him feel like a super-human; for about five minutes, to say the least (I do not think he feels like that for more than three minutes, but he insisted when telling me about it: -“Five minutes, that’s for sure. Not a second more; nor less.”

Certainly it had something to do with his birthday. There was always this urge to be alone, this time of the year. Alone, utterly alone. Bipolarity, why, yes. He wanted to be alone, but he also wanted this or that person to remember him. Not those he knew, saw everyday: this or that person, mind you.

This time, there was a particular girl. He would not dare telling her anything, no. Not after the past few months, the things he understood. Not at all. Crying was not among the things he could still do. He would not be tired, no; but he was very, very good at being - not feeling! - sad.