I'm one of those.

I was in costco today thinking about how I owe about two thousand dollars on various bills. I'm about that age where I'm expected to move out, get my own place and start paying for my prescriptions. It's not easy when I keep getting new ailments. These sex headaches are the newest ones. They are thunderclaps; like the roof of my head is bulging out in acute pressure points. I have to finish this later... he's coming to get me now.

BULLSHIT

I’m not sensitive like I’m a nice guy or anything.  I’m sensitive like I’m ill equipped to live in this cruel world.  I can’t relate to characters in novels and movies that are so hardened that their introspective moments are cold and analytical as opposed to frantic and paranoid.  Anyway, that’s not the reason I have you here; my intentions are more romantic in nature.  Turns out you’re the new thing that keeps me awake at night and the only way my feeble mind can think of to engage with you, is by speaking with outrageous certainty in your general earshot.  My cowardice is a peculiar one in that I don’t mind making a total fool of myself, proclaiming loudly and forcefully opinions that I may or may not own, in the hopes something will resonate with you or make you smile.  The unfortunate fact that I can’t look you in the eye makes it difficult to deduce which of my proclamations are registering with you favorably though.  I had an enormous crush on Mia Secord who sat next to me in grade ten English and I tried similar tactics to try to win her affections to a disastrous and comical end.  Though my adolescent bombast failed to win the heart of the beautiful young Mia Secord, in retrospect I believe it succeeded in wooing my flighty and eccentric grade ten English teacher.   Miss Blaine always reminded me of Elaine Benes partly because of their similar sounding names, partly because of her wild curly brown hair but mostly because of her unfeminine relatability.