I couldn’t sleep at all last night. Part of the problem was this stupid Christmas party that has my stomach in knots. But most of my anxiety is due to something I wrote a couple days ago. Yes, I was too hard on the Fat Cyclist. I was upset, and I wanted to believe he sent over some of the mean people who think it’s funny to treat me like some kind of clown. Ha ha, look at the nervous guy. I know I’ve gotten a lot of nice, supporting comments, but all it takes is one mean-spirited comment to wash away all the good feelings. So Mr. Fat Cyclist, if you’re reading this, I apologize. For what it’s worth, I like reading your blog about cycling. I’m envious. I sold my bike due to an unfortunate incident on the road, so it’s nice to keep in touch with people who manage to continue to enjoy riding bikes.

There’s also something else that’s bothering me. I told a couple of fibs. It’s no secret that my name isn’t really Harlan, but I don’t know why I wrote that other stuff. I’m not a Vice-President, I don’t earn $230k a year, and the only way I could retire is if I become a monk, which I’ve given serious thought to. Oh, and I’m not going to the stupid Christmas party tonight. I need to stop trying to be someone I’m not.

I’m so sorry.

Isolation score: 7