I went to the library this morning because I was antsy. I got six books and the first one was called “Secrets.” You can look it up on amazon and read it. Suffice it to say that I want to make a list of some of my secrets.

I can read people instantly but I never tell them I can. It wouldn’t help them or me.

Other people can read people instantly too and don’t tell for the same reason.

I am anal about almost everything. Toilet-trained at nine months by my mother and her mother, I also spoke a complete sentence at nine months and also begin to walk then. Perhaps I was walking away from them.

Writing comes too easy for me; I have never had to struggle to say how I feel. Nevertheless, saying is not helpful unless you can put some moxie behind it.

I worry about my hair even though it is short and gray. It used to be dark and long, just like some of my days.

I eat chocolate even though I shouldn’t and I don’t walk much even though I should.

I don’t care for social events, period.

You have probably guessed that there is no free will but I keep feeling guilty for things God made me do.

Perfection is my game and I haven’t even gotten my piece on the board.

Well, this is my piece on the bored, of which I include myself. Boredom is a trap I fall into when I am too chicken to leap into action.

I fear if I leap into action, I will not be able to find my way back home.

It might be fun, but I can’t take that chance.

Vicki Woodyard