I sometimes go through stages of paranoia, regarding the most usless, mundane bullshit.  There was a period of time in Forida where I would convince myself that there was insects on me when I went to bed (inspired by the giant, dickheaded ant).  Lately, every time I use milk in the morning, I’m convincing myself that it is sour.

The jug is two days old, and our fridge is badass, but I’m afraid to drink from it.  Every time the rim gets to my nose, I smell the tiniest hint of milk that might one day go bad, and it fucks me up.

 I’m glad I’m not paranoid about normal, crazyperson shit (secret agents and whatnots), but buying a new half-gallon of milk every few days is a pain in my ass.

(This post was brought to you as part of a five-minute challenge from Brooke)