This is part one of avoiding the nut house…because no one thought to give me a prescription for any kind of anti-anxiety medication. Apparently that’s too dangerous or something. I’m not even sure what part two is yet. It’s probably dressing myself. That’d be a huge win for the husband cause I think he’s pretty much tired of picking out my clothes and putting bright pink sticky notes on them all, “This goes over your HEAD and NOT over your ASS.” Turtlenecks can be so confusing sometimes…damn.
But, I’m convinced I’m not crazy because…
I don’t have an imaginary friend who I constantly seek for advice about things like shampoo flavors and Tuesday meal selections (Hi, Fred! I know – they’ll never understand).
I usually know the difference between a fork and a spoon and when it is appropriate to use each. Cake is eaten with a spoon and sporks are dangerous. Duh.
The stuffed animals actually don’t move by themselves. According to the husband, I move them (though I’d think I’d remember setting up a circle of stuffed animals around a miniature campfire. The hell, Fred?)
I do not repeat the same word over and over…except fluffernutter exactly 19 times before I pee and 3 times after I see a butterfly…but that’s only because fluffernutter is probably the most awesome word that isn’t in the dictionary. Except for booshy and I’m still pushing for that one…
I do not refer to Jessica in the third person.
I do not collect random objects and hide them between the couch cushions and behind the refrigerator in that tiny, little nook. I’ve found that the walls in the garage and bedroom hold a shitload more.
I’ve stopped sitting on tennis balls, waiting for them to hatch. I’ve learned that to get anywhere with this activity, it will require a trip to the microwave for exactly 5.42 minutes followed by 75 seconds in the freezer.
I don’t think I’m afraid of my shadow…today.
I’ve stopped responding to bird calls with a kazoo. It’s the harmonica coupled with the accordion that works. Every time.
I’ve accepted that it is not possible to teleport via closet. Yet.
I finally got rid of the unicorn in the bathroom. He stays in the spare closet now – the one with my wedding dress. I convinced him it was another unicorn since it had sparkles on it. He’s totally retarded that way.
Snow actually isn’t soap flakes that will result in an awesome outdoor bubble bath. It is frozen fairy pee. And no one swims in fairy pee.