17 August 2011

I can't be the only one, can I?

Let me preface this by saying that sure, maybe my college roommate was on to something when she diagnosed me as paranoid. She diagnosed me and plenty of other people with a number of things, but the paranoia is what we're talking about here.

Whenever I'm walking down the street ... or doing anything at the gym or I'm getting groceries or at Target or doing pretty much anything, if anyone gives me so much more than just a passing glance, I'm convince they're staring.

Why would they be staring? I've got toilet paper stuck to my shoe. Or my skirt is tucked into my underpants (underpants ... ha!). Or I've got a huge stain on my clothes. Or I'm showing too much cleavage and they think I'm a whore (that may have happened for real once). Or, if all else fails, I'm fucking hideous and they just. can't. look. away.

The only time I'm not super self-conscious when someone is looking at me is when I'm convinced the dude doing the looking is checking me out. When that is blatant, it's, well ... blatant.

It's hard being this crazy, y'all.

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