My conscience died

The girl sitting across from me at Cougar Grounds got here just now. She opened up her laptop, whipped out her notebook, and swiftly delved into vigorous note-taking with an assortment of colored gel pens. Not a moment wasted and she's in the zone, she's wired in.

I used to have those pens.

This isn't the first time I've realized my former will to academically overachieve has unsettlingly crashed and burned. The first was junior year of high school. That's pretty self explanatory.

For the past few weeks, I've been emotionally numb. It's like depression in the sense that you don't want to do anything, but anxiety free because I'm doped up on serotonin. Being so mentally checked out, nothing really registers with me right now. Not due dates, not chronic ghosting issues, not grad school, not even the desire to live alone. 

It's as though I've reverted to childhood, yet somehow worse. All I care about is my own pleasure, literally. I just watch TV, go on pinterest, and rot in my room. Hardly anything motivates me to develop a career I used to feel so zealously about, and I've been considering housewife life more than ever. Literally shoot me. Burn me at the stake. Maybe I'll come back as my true self, because I don't want to learn to live all over again. 

I can't meet a deadline, let alone go highlighter happy. I should feel upset at the fact that I can't recognize myself, but, I don't. She's the spitting image of my freshman self, and I almost feel envious that I can't be that efficient anymore.

Only almost, though.