No free refills

The Doubleday Anchor Book edition of The Birth of Tragedy and the Genealogy of Morals by Friedrich Nietzsche sits on one of the bookshelves that line the walls of my apartment. I ask myself "Why?" Retrieving the paperback in order to satisfy some superfluous curiosity, I notice a bookmark still in the place where I had left it on page 57. It must have been 20-plus years ago. Did I really try to read this stuff? Apparently. Paragraphs that extend beyond a full page! The ponderousness of it all. I never took a philosophy class in school so how did I come to own this thing? Could I have thought it would look cool to own some works (yes, there are others here) by Nietzsche? Why had I begun reading it? Why did I stop? Why would anybody read Nietzsche, except to satisfy the requirements of some sadistic philosophy professor? Will you ever find yourself at a party, attacking Socrates for his role in the marginalization of classical Greek tragedy? At a job interview, will you gain the edge over other applicants, all other things being equal, due to your keen insights regarding the dichotomy between the Apollonian and the Dionysian and their struggle over man's existence? Just reading Nietzsche is pretentious, in my opinion. Even reading the first 57 pages (and retaining absolutely nothing) smacks of unchecked egotistical aspirations. Unrealized metapretentiousness. There is, however, hope for me now. My outlook has become more worldly and more accepting of conventions. Acceptance of something does not mean liking it. The anarchist within cannot be rendered completely irrelevant. The instructions on the package tell me to heat for 60 seconds on high, but I know the burrito will still be cold in the middle. An additional 10 seconds and it might explode. Experience tells me to cover the burrito with a paper towel. Or to just go to Burrito Amigos and order the carne asada platter. A large Mountain Dew as well. There are no free refills. And then, I might think about dusting the shelves. Maybe.