Of course I'm holding back! I'm insane, you idiot. Remember when you told me I had pit stains? I've cried every 15 minutes on the half-hour since you told me. I am racked with self-doubt, I'm claustrophobic, germophobic, phobia-phobic. I talk to myself, I talk to my cat, I talk to three separate shrinks about the fact that my cats respond to me in my mother's voice, and yesterday, when that stupid, pretty surgical nurse handed you latex gloves, I almost killed a guy I was stitching up because I couldn't stop thinking about you having sex on a box of steaks. Why a box of steaks? My dad had an affair with a female butcher. And, as I mentioned before, I am insane. There, I opened up. Are you happy?