Turby and John

I found an insect leg in my hair shortly after waking up on Friday morning.  I’m not even entirely sure it was an insect leg. It could’ve very well been a spider leg. The kind of small creature it belonged to is actually negligible.  The point is, finding a detached leg in my hair filled me with a real and undeniable feeling of dread. I starting asking questions like “where is the rest of this bug?” and “why did its leg fall off in my head of all places?” and  ”did I swallow that little bitch?” and “why am I bothered by this so much?” (There are too many things wrong with the construction, punctuation, and capitalization of the previous sentence for me to even begin to fix it.)  I then sat on the toilet and attempted to calm my breathing.  After some time to mull it over, and after realizing that I was in no real danger, I took a shower in hopes of ridding my body/hair/head of any undetected bug parts.  The point of this story is that I am getting more neurotic every day, and I have no idea how to stop or even slow the process.  I am destined to one day be just like my crazy grandmother, and there is probably nothing I can do about it. The silver lining in this cloud of unstoppable crazy is that my grandmother is awesome.  I can probably deal with a little crazy if there’s also some awesome.