You know, it's never the big things that break me. I can handle bleeding faces and seizures. Not that I am inviting them but crisis, I can deal with. It's the little things like spilling a bowl of goldfish crackers or wet-sock that push me over the edge. Today it's burnt popcorn. I don't know what it is about popcorn that is so hard to master. My success rate is probably in the 10th percentile at best. If I happen to magically cook it to perfection, I don't want to eat it. I want to set it on my shelf in a pretty bowl to look at. It doesn't matter if I always buy the same size bags, or same brand, or cook it at the same temperature, time of day, etc, etc, etc.... undoubtedly I end up with a bag full of scalding hot kernals and not even enough "popped" corn to feed a rodent. OR a bag of charred mess that stinks up the house for an entire day. Today it was the later. Burnt crisp like an albino on the beach. And this is why I take anxiety meds. Should have gone with the goldfish crackers today.