If you know me at all–either from the blog, or from Real Life:

True or false, this is a conversation you should have with me:

Me: “I’m really glad I quit smoking. Although, when I’m, like, 70, I think I can totally start smoking again.”
You: “You think you’ll make it to 70? Huh. You totally won’t make it that long.”
Me: “I expect to make it longer than that. Plus, I’m super-duper superstitious, so please don’t tell me you think I’ll die early. Plus, why wouldn’t I? I’m taking good care of myself and I have grandparents that lived until their 90s.”
You: “Yeah, well, I had no idea you were so sensitive. There’s no way you’ll make it past about 65. WhatEVER. You’re being weird about the whole dying-early thing.”

Dude. I am so not okay with this. And this conversation? With Jason. Who, would you think, maybe knows me a little better by now? No, in fact, he totally doesn’t. And he totally freaked out Slapback, aka West Coast Friend, because really, how fucked up is that to say to ANYONE? Let alone someone with giant, enormous OCD that makes her stay awake nearly every night obsessing about her own death?

Grrr. I get very annoyed when my friends pretend they don’t know me at all.

ETA: Slapback did not–despite her name, and despite having excellent reasons–actually attempt an act of violence toward Jason. Though she totally should have. No, wait, violence is bad. But she does rock for getting pissed on my behalf. And I’m not just saying that because I’m giving her the address for this blog. Hi, Slapback!

Also: I exaggerate a smidge. I don’t stay awake every night obsessing (not about that, specifically, anyway). And I tend to obsess about GB’s death more than about my own. But really, do I hide my OCD that well in Real Life, that my RL friends don’t know I do that?

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