I'm not crazy. . . just a little insane

I am a sweater. Not the argyle kind, the kind that has rings around her armpits. Ewwww. I sweat when I walk up stairs, I sweat when I run, I sweat when I'm sitting down in the summer doing nothing. I sweat. I also turn bright red. It's a very attractive trait, being so sweaty and bright red. I practically have to fend off suitors with my wedding ring.

My job makes me sweat profusely. My job is to call people and talk to them, or walk up to them and talk to them and then write newspaper stories. I was never going to be a newspaper reporter because I dislike talking to people I don't know. I feel claustrophobic in large crowds. I am not naturally outgoing. I am curious though, and I like making money by writing, so here I am, a newspaper reporter.

I have to give myself extreme pep talks about my awesomeness before I call someone or go to an event that I'm reporting on. And even if I believe my self-pep talks, my nervousness is still evident in the sweat that pours forth from my armpits.
Even if I'm just talking to you on the phone asking you about how you break bricks in a karate tournament, I'm sweating because I am so nervous.

When I taught school, this was a problem. I think I have tried every deodorant on the planet in a quest for less sweat. Now I'm probably going to end up with cancer because of all the aluminum in deodorant. And I'll still be sweaty.

Umm, I'm having trouble with this blog. My family blog already has a following (kind of), and I feel like this blog exists merely for entering writing contests because I'm so lame at thinking of things to write about. And when I think about things to write about, I think, "Man, I should just write that on my family blog, because then I'll get some feedback." So I'm not sure if this blog is going to keep existing. I have to think about it. (And probably sweat about it)