Just call me neurotic.

My best friend Steph recently gave me a book entitled "I'm Neurotic and So Are You" for my 21st birthday. I think the book was meant to be a joke- or at the very least a documentation of the most extreme neurotic cases of the world. However, after reading almost halfway through the book upon receiving it, I began to realize that I didn't just identify with most of the examples in there- I had also experienced specific symptoms. Does this mean I'm neurotic? Does this mean I'm crazy? Probably. For your enjoyment, I've decided to share with you a couple of examples that can prove that I myself am neurotic. I would also encourage you to look inside yourself and do the same, because I guarantee that as the book suggests, we are all neurotic on one level or another.

One example I found in the book was a girl who couldn't stand the touch and feel of cotton balls. Upon reading this, I immediately thought, "Finally! For once someone shares my agony!" You can imagine my excitement upon finding out that I am not a crazy weirdo after all- or at the very least, I am not alone in it. You see, ever since I can remember, I have not been able to touch cotton balls- just like this girl. It's not that I'm allergic to them- I don't break out in a horrific rash or anything. The feel of cotton balls instead does something weird to my brain, making me cringe and grit my teeth while covering me in goose bumps. The best way I can describe it is that it's equivalent to nails scratching on a chalk board. You can only imagine how tough a manicure is for me- at home or otherwise. If anyone thinks of a wonderful substitute for cotton balls, let me know!

I hate ticking clocks. Me and Captain Hook have that in common. Perhaps it's the loud annoying sound of their steady rhythm that is so unsettling- like nails drilling into my inner ear. Or maybe it's just the fact that once I notice a ticking clock in the room it's almost impossible to ignore the sound- it is all I can pay attention to from then on. I can remember several instances throughout my life when a loud ticking clock severely cramped my style. When I was little I always had to remove the clock my mom put up in our bathroom so that I could fall asleep, stashing it in the closet until morning. I also remember doing the same at my cousins' house at Christmas one year (don't worry, I put it back up before anyone noticed in the morning). Even now, the ticking clock on my mom's desk top is keeping me unbearably distracted and annoyed.

I have number maps in my head. What?? Yes, number maps. My good friend Lindsey from school and I always have conversations about sharing this trait, spending hours reveling in our own neurotic-ness. Basically the best way to describe it is that when I think of any number, day of the week, month of the year, etc., I don't picture just the number in my mind. I can see a pattern of many numbers, counting up and counting down, with the specific number I had in mind in the foreground of the pattern. Make sense? I didn't think so. My number maps usually make swirls or circular patterns, and usually rotate when I am "searching" for the number, month, date in question. Can anybody relate?

I can't stand the sound of squeaking Styrofoam or sharpie markers on paper. It basically produces the same effect as my unfortunate cotton ball symptoms, only on a lesser scale. In the future, if I am within earshot of you unpacking a fragile object from a Styrofoam casing or of you scribbling on a piece of paper with a sharpie, do not be surprised if you look over and I am plugging my ears. And for that matter, please don't torture me by chasing me around with it like my family and friends always do.

I suppose that about does it for now. I'm sure that I did not cover all of the neurotic tendencies I possess in this blog, but rest assured that they are the big ones. Can you relate to any of them? If so, know that you are not alone, my friend. If not, congratulations. You are a beautiful exception and are probably saner than the rest of us. :)

So with that, I wish to bid you a wonderful, neurosis-filled evening.