Critique Is The Language of the internet

Sometimes in life, things are a lot less complicated than we make them out to be and problems start to crop up if we believe we’re smart enough to ruminate, but too stupid to take the first step. This is precisely what happened to me when I tried to deal with an extended period of burnout midway through my honour’s year, and after a few consultations with my therapist, I found myself looking into her eyes, confounded:   

"It can't be that simple, can it?" I said.

"Give it a go and I'll see you next week." She walked me out of her office after she attributed everything to insomnia and prescribed a cure.

Ever since I started my honours year, sleep became what drugs were in high school. I was surrounded by other people who averaged 8 hours a day while I stayed up late, head-deep in research and writing. After an entire semester of preferring reading over sleep, I developed a constant state of irritation and was prone to exhaustion. At times, I needed two coffees just to get into the zone of work. This total sleep deprivation, after a while, started to resemble somewhat of a Byronic temperament, and alongside a bit of acquired intelligence, I was in full possession of the two main ingredients in an excellent critic.

"Or an asshole." My girlfriend said over a coffee break after noticing the dark circles under my eyes. Upon reflection, there is a real thin line between the two. Merve Emre once wrote in The New Yorker that the Modern Critic is a "contemptible creature" who is always "quacking of the infirm and diseased Parts of Books". And if such a Critic ever escapes their literary containment, then we'll end up with an asshole who's forever quacking of the "diseased Parts of the World".