Anxious
I’ve always been an anxious person. During grade school, I dreaded presentations. I rarely raised my hand in class. I worried what other kids thought of me. I was short, uncoordinated and shy. I remember running to my mom, the elementary art teacher, when a classmate threatened to pull down my sweatpants in fourth grade. Skeletons gave me the creeps (ironically, my dad kept a real skeleton in his art room). I was obsessed with aliens and thought I was going to be abducted from my bedroom. I worried about going through the Great Tribulation. I made my peace with God every time I stepped into an aircraft (in case the plane went down). The anxieties carried into adulthood. Job interviews were the worst. Talking to pretty girls freaked me out. I was one of those people who took excessive precautions for Y2K. To this day, I don’t like large crowds or loud noises (ironic being that I’m the front man for a rock band). I’m a germaphobe and would prefer an elbow bump over a hand shake. I’m a hy