Let me start by saying this: Anxiety Disorder is a fickle bitch. For me, it’s like I’m a complete contradiction of myself. Take that one time I met Jenny Lawson, for example.
Within two hours of freaking the fuck out when I met Jenny Lawson (Shaking hands, heart racing, rambling uncontrollably about nothing, and basically making a complete fool of myself, when all I wanted to do was impress her with my clever wit and overall adorableness…neither of which showed up to party), I went out to the bar where I proceeded to stand up in front of an entire bar full of people — mostly strangers, and sing a song about masturbation without a second thought. (I’m kind of a karaoke nerd. For the record, I was singing the Divinyls’ “I Touch Myself,” loudly. Proudly, even.)
No, seriously. It doesn’t make any sense! I can make a fool of myself (ON PURPOSE) in front of a hundred strangers…but meeting one famous author, who understands awkward probably better than I do sends me into a pile of incoherent goo. IN THE SAME NIGHT.
Okay, so this was where this post originally ended, and I have no idea why or how. I just know that I wrote it back when I was writing blog posts 5-7 days a week, and I guess I just didn’t have anything else to say? 2021 me is sad for 2013 me who didn’t know how to finish a blog post. But 2013 me wrote more of them, so I don’t actually know who’s winning the blog battle here.
Do you have any crazy quirks that make you question your sanity? Tell me, Blog Friends!