I’m a writer who tries to put everything I’ve got into everything I do which means I fall from exhaustion with a book on my face quite often. I tried to keep this part of me a secret, but was exposed quickly through the mirror’s invasion of my privacy every time I walk by (the traitor), and the tell-tale crease down the left side of my face until two hours after waking.
I have a perpetual extra bump on my middle finger from writing and have discovered that a thesaurus is not a dinosaur. (I looked it up.)
My OCDs are entering writing contests and folding sheets precisely into the ball they were meant to be.