Confession #3: I Promise, I Am Not A Serial Killer.

A couple years ago, when I lived in an apartment by myself, I remember a time when I was really afraid of my neighbors knocking on my door at the most inopportune moment. I feared that they would call the cops and I would get locked up or get placed on a psych hold.

It all started because I needed to repack my kit and sharpen all my knives, because as someone once put it, they were dull as those plastic pre-k safety scissors. 

As I started to organize my kit, I had it completely scattered all over my living room floor. Then I got distracted and thought I should sharpen all my knives before packing my kit. 

I had an electric sharpener, which is really loud. So I'm sharpening my knives and then I hear footsteps outside my door. I ran to the peephole hoping that it wasn't a disgruntled neighbor…

It was then that I realized not only do I have a knife in my hand, I also have my kit spread out over the entire living room which includes: trash bags, gloves, duct tape, masking tape, metal skewers, wooden picks, glue of all kinds, exacto knives, a propane torch, a butane torch, paper towels, dish rags, an electric charcoal starter, a heat gun... and pretty much everything that makes me look like an assassin! 

Lucky for me it was just a delivery guy going to the apartment next door. But, confession: My job makes me look like a serial killer sometimes.

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Confession #4: Fact: I Really Do Love Coconuts.

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Confession #2: This Job Makes Me Do Weird Things.