Confessions of a neurotic

Whenever I walk by my hairdresser's window on a bad hair day, I am afraid she may be disappointed in me.

Similarly, when I go to my favourite indie video store, I feel as though they are judging me when I rent a romantic comedy.

As a child, I once burnt my nose on a furnace because I wanted to see how hot it really was. I was rocking the Rudolph for several weeks.

I sleep talk like a mofo. A few nights ago I started sleep yelling at the Duke, who was in the kitchen, because I awoke still thinking our dream of a sting in a mental institution was real.

I am exceedingly emo in the mornings. When the muffled talk radio breaks through my dream haze, my thoughts are immediately melodramatic. 

"I freakin' hate my life since I have to get up so early."

"It's so damn bone-chillingly cold outside of this bed, I want to die."

I bet I could write some killer epic poetry about my morning sorrows pre-coffee.

On my first time driving an electric scooter, I careened directly into a fence. Just as the fence's owner came out of his house. Needless to say, there hasn't been a second time.

There is a woman at my gym who works out in a leopard print jacket. I thought this was exceedingly comical-- until I noticed she was lifting way more weight than me.