Became utterly livid upon learning about rebus squares in crossword puzzles.
Wept with joy when Miranda finally got invited to have a threesome on “Sex and the City.”
Convinced myself that a murderer would burst in while I was in the bath.
Spent forty-five minutes choreographing a victory dance for remembering to put grounds in the coffee machine before going to bed.
Got in a heated argument with a column of ants.
Waxed nostalgic over a receipt from Marshalls I once carried around in my wallet for eight months.
Wrote Will Shortz an angry, paragraphs-long e-mail about the injustice of rebus squares in crossword puzzles.
Sulked for hours after catching only the very tail-end of Nickelback’s “How You Remind Me” on the radio.
Panicked over not actually having Will Shortz’s e-mail address.
Became heavily emotionally invested in whether a particular leaf would unfurl.
Dreamt of a better world in which everyone is happy and secure because there are no rebus squares in crossword puzzles.
