I hang my head in shame

Right, it's been nearly a month since I last posted, and I made the mistake of scanning my last post and seeing that I decided to make it an "unofficial rule" that I would reveal "some snippet that reveals an aspect of the hidden depths of my psyche" in return for failing you, my fanbase of four, by posting infrequently.* So now, in addition to trying to come up with something mildly entertaining so that you, fanbase of four, don't waste five minutes of you time in reading this post, I have to be entertaining while giving some sort of said snippet. This, dear fanbase, is a difficult task, but here goes.

I dislike sock fuzz.

Now, just what does my dislike of sock fuzz reveal about my psyche? Could it be that there is some sort of childhood trauma involving sock fuzz? Perhaps at some point, a torturous soul, such as an elder brother, forcibly placed me inside a dryer and laughed while I screamed and begged for freedom, and the only thing I could hear above my own increasingly hoarse cries for help was a malicious, "Eat sock fuzz!"?

No.**

Could it be that I am obsessive compulsive, and that when I get the sock fuzz trapped between my toes, and see the sock fuzz trapped between my toes, I must halt all other acitivity until I have removed every last bit of fluff from the crevices separating those tiny appendages that are so helpful for balance? Or is it that some part of my brain is skewed and I think the sock fuzz might somehow hinder my toes in their important job of maintaining my balance?

Again, no.

So what, exactly, does my dislike of sock fuzz reveal about my psyche?

I don't know. But it was the first thing that popped into my head when I was wondering what I should write, so I figure it's got to be related to my psyche somehow. If you happen to have any theories, fanbase of four, feel free to post them. Though I may regret saying that later.

On another note, the countdown to Chicago is on. I'll be moving in less than a month. Yay!


*After receiving a complaint many weeks ago from someone who seemed to think he/she was not included in my fanbase of three, I have decided to increase the number. And now I have that cool alliterative thing going: "Fanbase of four." Huzzah for alliteration!

**Unless, of course, my brain repressed such a memory because it was too dreadful and traumatizing to remember, and it is now slowly revealing itself to me as I write. But that's getting a little too Freudian for me.