Welcome to Crazy Town
I've always been a little anal-retentive (and yes, it is hyphenated). I used to not turn the radio off at night until the clock hit a round number. I had this whole counting thing from digital clocks - how many 'lines' would be needed or excessive when one number turned into another. Like, for example, a 3 uses five lines, but a 4 only uses four lines, so a 3 is worth one point. Shut up. I can calculate the worth of a license plate like it's nobody's business. Anyway, that OCD type of behavior is coming into play during my runs on the treadmill. I'm beginning to understand how some people can get addicted to exercise. Sure, there's the endorphins, the stupid chemicals that make you feel all happy and shit. But the numbers themselves can be addicting.Let's see, I've burned 146 calories. I'm going to keep going until I've burned 150. Ah, shit. Now I've run 1.31 miles. That's not good. I need to keep going until I've run 1.40 miles. Or at least 1.35. But, damnit, now I've been on this fucking thing for 12:38 minutes. That just won't do. Eventually, I decide that one of these takes precedence - and I usually bow to the minutes - and I haul my ass off of there. Yep, this is Crazy Town, alright. My weary legs and I welcome you.
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