I take things personally. I read into everything. These two traits get me into trouble.

After finishing dinner with a friend the other night we handed the waitress our credit cards and asked her to split the bill. Rather than adding the tip on to the receipt, I asked if she could charge us each $40, a solid 15 percent tip. She gave me a dirty look. Did I miscompute? Perhaps she’s a single mom and during breaks she calls home to see if her son has finished the tuna casserole she left in the refrigerator.

Earlier this week, scheduling conflicts forced several members of my writing group to say they could not meet on our usual Thursday to discuss my novel. Did they hate it that much?

In my world it’s easy for me to take responsibility for things I have no control over, to take things personally, to blame myself. It is during occasions such as these that I feel like I am my own enemy.