Sunday, 7pm.
I look down at the two words written on my hand; cognitive dissonance. My dad and I discussed it earlier, and I know if I want to remember the term of the day I have to write it on my hand. Cognitive dissonance is that fight that goes on inside before you make up your mind about something. It’s the struggle that takes you a second to decide which shirt to wear in the morning, or which ice cream to choose when two flavors look equally appetizing. It can also be the two voices in your head shouting at each other so loudly you’re afraid other people can hear it. It’s the infinitely strong pull from two opposite directions that drives you to the point where you can’t take it anymore. It’s what drives you to question your own existence. I look out the window at the scenic mountains as we fly down the nearly empty freeway. This is going to be a rough night for the voices in my head. My only hope is that they will somehow get hoarse before I faint under the stress of choosing.