Adding to the list of my anomalies, I have to admit that I stop liking guys the moment they start liking me back. It’s even more ridiculous than majoring in an Art degree and having to eat your paintings after no one shows interest in any of them. This might be the one thing that will seal my fate as a lonely, withered, old hag with 76 grey-whiskered cats.

Why can’t I function like other cheerful 20-somethings out there? Seriously, what does it take? Do I have to hang a cardboard sign over my bed, where as I wake up each morning I’ll bump into it and read something like,

You better be normal today. Or no more gym for you. That’s right, you’ll become a fat ass.

That’s the only terrible thing I can think of. Either that, or I’m forced to pet furry tarantulas every time I…

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