I walked into the classroom. The teacher maybe looks at me and says "You're amazing," and I wasn't as startled as I was enamored.

"About time," my subconscious mutters.

What the fuck is wrong with me.

She wasn't talking to me, though, don't worry. She was talking to the obese girl woman who brought some sort of loaf-of-bread to class.

"You're amazing."

I take my seat and give my quiet critique of my maddening egotism. WHen will I stop writi9ng about myself?

Probably never.