I'm ashamed of my browser's search history not because its contents are embarrassing but because they are the base desires that drive me. It's the truth, thoughts thought in the middle of the night while lying down with the lights turned off. Dreams are the closest to our unconscious that we will ever get. If so, then the moment before we take a 8-hour stroll through the amusement park that is our unconscious, that sleepless moment of consciousness, establishes a link to the unknown. For that brief instance when our desires make themselves known, we pick up our faced-down phones, connect to the WiFi and type them all down in the search bar, irresistibly, bashfully, and maybe even apologetically.
"Why am I like this?" this thought has probably crossed your mind during one of your nightly searches. Yet, you hit search and scroll down regardless. It might be that you're stalking someone, or reading an article about whatever you think is wrong with you, or you might simply be looking up things that are now legal to your adult eyes. But what is this feeling? Even though you are already executing the cues of your desires, fulfilment and contentment do not make themselves known to you for you to placate your desires. Insatiable, are they? Is it pure greed?
Obviously not. By Googling what you want, you are merely damaging your eyesight and nothing more. Our desires, are in no way so easy to please. If by looking at search results could appease them, then a picture of fried chicken could end world hunger.
Let's one day play a game where we write one of our recent searches on separate pieces of paper, shuffle them around, and each pick a random one. Wouldn't we become better friends?
The searches that had me ashamed of myself, and here by way of distraction, tell me that I am a weak woman, the kind that I despise. Apparent truths are plain to see, but when it comes to accepting them, I'd stall their arrival and look everywhere else for a possible justification to refute them.
My sense of morality is supported only by my indolence and lack of self-esteem. If I happened to possess a strong will, great motivation and overbearing confidence, I wouldn't be writing this at the moment because I wouldn't have bothered Googling what I did at 1AM.
It's nothing bad, and it wasn't porn.
After I fall asleep, I'd like to have a slow chat with my desires. The conversation that will take place can only be of use in the waking world if I remember it after coming back to my senses. If I can't recall anything, at least let me have sweet dreams.
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