One of the examples of how sick in the head I am (Mental Health Number Alert!!)

I turn to Michael and HAVE to ask, "Gingi was really dead, wasn't she? I mean, what if I was wrong? What if I didn't look closely enough?"

Michael: "I SAW her. She was really dead."

Me: "Okay. I mean, I was just worried ... like what if we'd buried her and she wasn't really totally dead ..."

Michael: *shakes his head and gives me a hug* "You're cute."

Me: "No, I mean ... she was REALLY, really dead. Right?"

Michael: "Yes."

And people wonder why I'm so wracked with nostalgia.
It could be that I just overOVERover-analyze nearly everything when I get stressed.

...

But I'm glad that I didn't accidentally bury a still-living kitty.

Because then I'd REALLY be going to Hell, I think.

But, no. I really made sure. I mean, she was dead. She had no color in her lips (can you call it lips? ... It's MY kitty and I AM calling it lips, so no matter.) and tongue. There was no breathing or pulse. She was cold ... She went though all the things that the websites warned of - emptying the bladder, little convulsions ...

I really am sure. But I sure don't want to be.