Something from my psych textbook:
Callum: Is God everywhere?
Mother: Yes, dear.
Callum: Is he in this room?
Mother: Yes, he is.
Callum: Is he in my mug?
Mother: (growing uneasy) Er - Yes.
Callum: (clapping his hand over his mug) Got him!
(Donaldson, 1992, cited in Stevens, 1996)
As the 4 people sat to watched the idiot box showing a pretty lady making 2 long scratches on a piece of paper with 2 pictures of rather innocuous objects, one person says: "Ya! You know jie's friend put a tick instead of a cross in the box you know?"
Dad: No, no, no... You must put a tick on the one you want, and a cross on the one you don't want.
You know you can't cook/need to improve the currently tragic culinary skills, when you attempt to cook one of your favourite dishes only to mess it up so bad that... the favourite dish is not so favourite anymore.
I think that i take things way too seriously. It's either that, or i put too stress on myself when i need to perform. To compound things, when everything comes successively blow by blow, i feel like keeling over and dying for a while. For a less dramatic way to escape, i would love to be whisked to some beach (with a guarantee chop to be rain-free) without a single care on my mind, and sip a cool drink with jazz music playing in the background.
Things are not bad, really. It's just the paraniod, easily freaked, easily pressured person that i am that makes me incline more towards being the one ON the couch belonging to a psychologist, rather than being the one LISTENING to the one on the couch.