We're All Much Better Off With Me Staying Home Writing

Every so often I wonder if I’ve perhaps become a tad too attached to the writer’s life. That maybe I’ve grown too accustomed to being alone in a room at home living inside my head and talking to imaginary people. That maybe none of this is really all that healthy.
 
But then I remember how I behave whenever I’m out in public.
 
Trust me, we’re all much better off with me just keeping to myself.
 
I’m not saying I’m a total sociopath (I’ve got friends and family to say that for me), but following is a list of activities I should not be trusted to engage in without proper supervision:
  
Driving in traffic (or even with just a few cars within my vicinity). I get road-rage whenever I get cut off or stuck behind somebody going even just five miles per hour under the speed limit, or whenever someone doesn’t use their turn signal, or if they are driving a forest green minivan. So, for me, it’s either stay home and write or serve ten to twenty for vehicular homicide. Not that I wouldn’t get a ton of great writing done in prison. Actually, that whole prison thing doesn’t sound so bad.
 
Talking to people at gatherings. I can usually show some semblance of social grace and normality – or at least fake it – for the first couple of minutes when conversing with another human being. However, I speak uncontrollably fast, which, in its own right, is off-putting for many, particularly since I live in Texas. But that’s just a small part of the problem. Because I’m a writer, I’ll invariably start talking about a book I’ve written or am working on or want to work on. And since I write comedies about things like suicide and terminal illness and murder and sex trafficking, you can imagine (and may even have witnessed firsthand) how others could get a bit uncomfortable around me. Not helping matters is the fact that I often arrive at gatherings immediately following one of my road-rage incidents, so I’m ready to rip some heads off before I’ve even sipped my first drink. Just kidding – I rarely arrive at parties without already having had a few drinks.
 
Listening to people at gatherings. Because most people at gatherings are NOT writers, they rarely talk about things like suicide or terminal illness or murder or sex trafficking (and if they do, they rarely say anything funny about it). Instead, they talk about things like their desk job or their spouse or their spouse’s desk job or their kids. Thus I get really bored quickly. And when I get bored, I yawn. And when I yawn, I open my mouth. And when I open my mouth, I tend to talk really fast about all the weird shit I write. So as you can see, it’s a vicious circle that really isn’t fun for anyone. But I generally don’t realize that until I’m back home, away from other people. 
 
Browsing in a bookstore. Unlike most people, I don't go to bookstores for pleasure or baked goods; I go to swear at all the bestselling chick-lit, romance, vampire and fantasy novels taking up physical space in such a holy building. Don't worry, I would never go so far as to physically damage these books. That said, if they were to catch on fire, I can’t promise I’d do much to put out the flames. You might even see me tampering with the extinguisher. I know what you’re thinking, such anger and jealousy and pretentiousness serves no real purpose. But that's where you're wrong. I'm a writer – those traits fuel most of my work.
  
 
NOTE: For those of you who have invited me to your upcoming wedding or other social gathering prior to having read this post, please do not hesitate to rescind said invitation. I’ll not only understand, I’ll commend your decision. As will the rest of your guests. (But please don't rescind my wife's invitation – she really needs to get out of the house.)