Narcissus in print

I have a weakness.

Okay, I have many, but the one I'm addressing today is my love of the sound of my own voice, in print. When I write something and it goes well, I can't help but read it over and over. It's proofreading made mental masturbation.

Greek mythology includes a character called Narcissus, who was so vain that he was cursed by the love of his own reflection so abject that he starved at the edge of a pool, so reluctant was he to leave his own image.

I have my vanities, but I don't think this is one of them. The ability to shit out a thought (granted, this phrase is not among the prettier ones I have wrought) and turn around and look at it scratches a very basic itch. I can feel it dance along the tiny nerves and neurons that conspired to give it life, little cerebral high-fives as it retraces the steps it took on the way out of my brain.

Then again, it may be the nature of vanity, that one doesn't realize or want to realize that it is vanity. That just adds to my assertion that it's a weakness. An indulgence, certainly!