A fun journey of fear and love
My paranoia runs deep. I doubt this comes as any surprise to you, kittens. A girl who is afraid of Australia, for Christ’s sake, is bound to have some issues. I also won’t go camping without skewers (oleander poisoning), don’t like the swing rides at amusement parks (dangling wires cutting off unsuspecting extremities), and have single-handedly ruined my friends’ love of mushrooms (carcinogens). What I didn’t realize until recently is that my paranoia invades my love life, as well.
Okay, let’s be real. It’s not paranoia, is it? It’s fear. Fear of this, fear of that. Fear that actually comes off as charmingly well-informed and idiosyncratic in most cases. Once I explain the existence of a deadly fish that looks like a freaking rock, don’t you have some reservations about that Down Under vacation? I can logic the hell out of any emotion. It’s the scientist in me.
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