As I shed my bizarre manias, compulsions, and neuroses through a tireless regimen of therapies and drugs, I seem to have sprouted some new ones.

It seems, for example, that I can no longer get out of bed if the numbers on my alarm clock are not a multiple of five. It is simply out of the question. I just lay down to pet my dog and was trapped there for twenty minutes because I kept missing the fives and zeros and had to stay in hopes of catching the next one.

I have also launched a campaign to keep every closet and bathroom door in my apartment shut tight to keep positive energy from getting trapped amongst the hangers or flushed down the drains. Further, the light must be on in the bathroom at all times. Or else.

I would say that the processed carbohydrates and sugars I gave up were keeping me sane, but upon reflection, I realized what a laughably erroneous statement that is. Still, if I could sell it with a straight face, I might have a new career in Republican politics.