I openly admit that I’m strange. I know that I’ve said this, or things like this, before, but honestly, I am. Most people that are close to me are close to me because they accept the many quirks that I have.

One of these quirks is becoming increasingly obvious to me. I hate questions.

I have friends and family that bombard me with questions every time they talk to me. Questions about immigration, about my living arrangements, about money, about my car, about Matt’s job. I don’t want to answer a lot of questions. I don’t want to have to feel like if I don’t answer them right, that friend will judge me or go into how I need to do things.

The worst part about being so bothered by these constant questioning sessions is the fact that it puts me in a weird mood. I end up acting odd until I snap out of it, which sometimes takes a while. And I don’t know how to avoid the interrogation. It’s so frustrating.