“I’m trying to overcome my OCD by replacing my neurosis with three other letters.”

“I’m so OCD that I sort the sort ofs out from the maybes.”

“My OCD governs my actions like a governor, but I didn’t vote for it. No, I voted for Dora J. Arod.”

“I’m now solidly in my mid-thirties. I turned thirty, three days ago.”

“I would eat my soup in silence, but it’s alphabet soup. They’re all capital letters and they are shouting at me. I’m not anorexic or illiterate, so alphabet soup is like a nourishing novel. An anorexic should make a suicide note out of the letters.”

“My favorite flower lost its voice, and through aroma therapy and the assistance of both my nostrils, I’m trying to help it get it back.”

“Every morning I cheer on my Cheerios, but I don’t really want them to win. Secretly I’m trying to drown them and eat them—just like I tried to do to my teammates in my tenure on my high school swim team.”