As Republispouse, my wife, is fond of pointing out, I’m always thinking. It’s the way I make my horribly obvious OCD and other mental woes work for me. It’s not enough that I don’t like a particular kind of cheese, or that golf doesn’t appeal to me, no, that’d be too simple. I have to know *exactly* why I don’t like cheese, and why for some reason this particular kind doesn’t appeal to me when, in fact, several other similarly-related kinds do. I need to know exactly what it is about golf that makes me think about suicide as a viable alternative to playing it.