(I resent agreeing with myself, but what can I say? I’m always right. About everything. All the time. It’s exhausting. Really)

I resent agreeing with myself. But I keep doing it. Reluctantly. Repeatedly. With the kind of regularity that should qualify as a medical condition.

It’s not that I want to be right all the time. I just am. It’s practically involuntary. Like blinking. Or a hiccup. I’ve tried to throw myself off. Inject a little doubt. Run a few internal sabotage missions. Whisper things like “what if I’m wrong?”just to see if I flinch.

But it never lasts. I always win.

The real problem? I see it coming. The moment I open my mouth, there it is—my own voice echoing back, smug and unbothered. And I hate that. Not because it’s wrong. But because it isn’t.

I’ve tried being humble. It looks good on other people. Doesn’t fit me. Like a borrowed coat from someone far less irritating.

So yes. I resent agreeing with myself. But what can I say? I’m always right. About everything. All the time.

And it’s exhausting. Really.