NaNoWriNO Day 16
A friend of mine suggested I talk about this topic as I’m well-known for being a “functional neurotic” amongst my friends. We decided it was best we didn’t use his real name on this blog so we’ll call him Mr. Bitch Mittens for the sake of the post. He has an important job and a savings account and a suit and other things he thinks make him fancy.
The following is an actual conversation I had with him years back:
MBM: Hey, what are you doing?
Me: I’m typing an e-mail to myself.
MBM: Another list?
Me: No, not a list. I’m typing a note to the police in case I go missing.
MBM: Are you planning on being kidnapped and held for ransom?
Me: I’m going to volunteer today, and I’ve never been to this place. It might be a crack den filled with gun runners who will harvest my organs. I want to leave behind a note so if I do go missing, the police will search my e-mails and find clues.
MBM: I thought you were volunteering at a senior citizen center?
Me: OR a crack den. You just never know.
Seems legit. I’m not sure if this is a result of watching too much informational programming, or my overactive imagination, but my mind is like a bad acid trip without the beautiful hallucinations. My neuroses don’t hinder my everyday life, but they do make people wonder if I’m acting out a character from a Woody Allen film.
I believe bugs are desperate to make my ears their future colony sites
You guys, I’m serious. Bugs want to crawl into your ears and make homes for themselves. If you think about it, they’re the perfect place to live. No down payment, tons of privacy, and the occasional streaming of music directly into the ear canal. I’ve decided to combat this by never killing a bug that enters my home. I trap them and take them outside, hoping that they’ll go forth and spread word of my benevolence all around the bug kingdom. “Buzz Buzz Buzz Buzz!” (Roughly translated to: “She didn’t squash Eddie even though she had the chance. We should find someone else to nest in.”)
The garbage disposal will turn itself on the moment I stick my hand in there, mangling my manly hands
I’ve never had an incident with a garbage disposal, but it’s not totally off the table. If you think about it, it’s nothing but the kitchen sink’s mouth, waiting to devour anything you put into it. Part of my paranoia stems from my belief that all kitchen appliances come to life the moment you leave the room. I’m going to throw eggshells down there knowing I shouldn’t, and next thing you know, it’s plotting with the oven on how to destroy me.
There is always a serial killer behind the shower curtain
I hold my breath before I draw the curtain back. I’m not sure why I think this is effective since I’ll need all the oxygen I can get to run away from this knife-wielding psychopath. It doesn’t matter if I’ve been home the entire time since my last shower, I’m convinced the murderer has somehow gotten inside my house, sneaked his way into my shower, and waited hours just so he could kill me in the tub. Each time, when I see there isn’t someone behind the curtain, I really feel like I cheated death.
Paging Dr. Freud? Please tell me you guys have totally unsubstantiated fears like I do.
A special thanks to my friend Mr. Bitch Mittens for suggesting this topic. Also, thank you to everyone who read, shared and commented on my post yesterday. My Hooked on Tonics are the best.