I am taking a sick day, dear readers.
It is shocking—I know—that I, practically a superhero by trade, could possibly get sick. I mean. What is wrong with the universe? What has this world come to?
I have the heart of a T-rex. I am supposed to be invisible.
It’s sad when things end.
An empty box of Cheez-Its. The last episode of your favorite vampire-romance TV show. The conclusion of love month. The end of a relationship.
We mourn and cry and remember the good times we had. But no amount of tears will bring back those precious cheesy-salty-crackery moments you had together. You can’t relive the awestruck shock over your TV love’s heroic sacrifice. You can’t go back in time. Soon, you’ll have to move on.
It has come to my attention that I overthink things. A lot of things.
Okay. Not really my attention, but my friend’s attention, who has now took it upon himself to ‘break me’ of my nasty little thinking habit, much as you would a dog who tinkles on the carpet. I believe he will be buying a squirt gun and a roll of newspaper next.
Do I think I’m an over thinker? Yes. Do I consider it a problem?
I’ve been thinking about that.