If you can’t spot the nutjob, you are the nutjob. Stress.

There’s a nutjob in every crowd. If you can’t spot the nutjob, you are the nutjob.

Each of us has limits. Money, time, and energy are limited. (Maybe not money for  Alex Rodriguez, the Manning family, and Madonna.) Love is unlimited, so we can throw it all around.

Remember the Basic Self—Pseudo Self dilemma? For most of us, when we are teens, we are willing to devote much of our money, time, and energy on our appearance or Pseudo Self. For most of us, the percentage we are willing to give up to preserving our image goes down—though some luxury car brands are selling the idea that even when we’re older we can lease an impressive car and prove we’re not older. 

Stress. Stress Management. Anxiety. Online Psychology. Therapy. Depression. 

This lack of investment in appearance can, of course, embarrass the hell out of friends and relatives. What’s even scarier is we often don’t even recognize how odd we’ve become.

  Which brings us to the oddball woman I saw today in the grocery store.

I’d stopped at the grocery to feed my fried chicken strip habit (when choosing food, all that matters is protein). While there, I picked up a couple of bottles of champagne for our regular Scrabble and Champagne Blowout. And couple of boxes of cereal (screw protein, fiber is all that matters). I checked out at the register in the deli where I buy the chicken fingers.

And then . . . I stopped at the bagging end of one of the regular registers to properly bag my purchases. That’s when it happened, when I heard whispers about the nutjob . . . I looked around and didn’t see any nutjob. A packing nutjob. The method will be revealed in You Are the Nutjob, Part 2.

 

 

 

 

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