Of course I’m holding back. I’m insane, you idiot. Remember the other day when you told me I had pit stains? Well, I have cried every fifteen minutes on the half hour since you told me that. I am racked with self doubt, I have painc attacks, I’m claustraphobic, germaphobic, phobiaphobic, I talk to myself, I talk to my cats, 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 who’s 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? Because my dad had an affair with a female butcher and, as I mentioned before, I am insane. There, I opened up. Are you happy?