This just in, if you didn’t know that I’m anal-retentive and very tightly strung, you’re a complete idiot. Yes I can let my hair down, so to speak, but I’m just generally speaking a very serious person, who’s grown up very fast and takes things very seriously. I constantly find myself being gullible, and taking people’s word, for exactly what they say. This makes me ditzy, stupid sounding, and terribly naïve. Needless to say I’m anal-retentive.

The dictionary defines this adjective as follows:

(of a person) excessively orderly and fussy


Houston, we have lift-off! If you know me, you know that this is so true. I’m such a perfectionist to the point of hating myself because of imperfections. It’s a great way to constantly be self improving, but at the same time one is always chipping away at oneself and can become quite stressful and tense when the going gets tough. The other day someone told me that I was perfect, I laughed and sent an sms back politely stating that there are too many things wrong with me to make me perfect, but the gesture is quite generous.

Yes, I’m anal-retentive, I’m not ashamed and I’m at the same time not proud of it. I like to be orderly, but not necessarily fussy. Things need to go perfectly, which I feel to be true, and I always want guests to feel at ease. This often means that I can’t, myself, feel at ease, which is clearly the reason for which I go out to a bar and get hammered beyond belief. I’m so tightly strung that it’s no wonder that I need to chug it back once and awhile.

Many people have instructed me to relax, and just let things be mellow, over the years. I find this to be impossible, as I’m far too paranoid. I make strange first impressions, because most people don’t know how to take me. Am I serious, am I normal, or am I one of those abstract anomalies that you only read about in fictional novels? The latter is the correct response, of course. I’m what one would call a diamond in the rough, but at second glance the diamond is in fact cubic zirconia, the ever flawed and fake.

Sure I’m wound tight, but only fiascos occur when I let loose, and really I don’t need to embarrass myself any more than I already do in public. It’s a shame that I even allow myself to leave the house one day, because really I’m not always feeling up to it, and there is bound to have some crazy-shit happen to me. And it always does, le sigh!