Of course I'm holding back! I'm insane, you idiot! Remember the other day, when you told me that I had pit stains? Well, I have cried every fifteen minutes on the half-hour since you told me that. I am wracked with self-doubt. I have panic attacks. I'm claustrophobic, germaphobic, phobiaphobic. I talk to myself. I talk to my cat. I talk to three separate shrinks about the fact that often my cats respond to me in my mother's voice.
And yesterday, when that stupid pretty surgical nurse handed you a pair of latex gloves, I almost killed the guy whose leg I was stitching up because I couldn't stop thinking about the two of you having sex on a box of steaks! Why a box of steaks? 'Cause my dad had an affair with a female butcher! And, as I mentioned before, I am insane. There! I opened up! Are you happy?