Creative fear wants you to believe it’s protecting you, but all its disguises and slick fast-talking are designed to control you. If it were a cartoon, it would be a manipulative chameleon voiced by Robert Downey Jr. But once you know what’s driving it, things become more manageable.

You may have noticed that more people are behaving poorly, or even downright terribly, these days. Blame the rise in douchebaggery on the internet, politics, global warming, high fructose corn syrup, or lackluster movie remakes—I don’t care. The real reason it’s becoming more of a problem is that we’re letting people get away with it.

Breakups are never easy. You’d think it would be less stressful when the relationship is rooted in an exchange of cash for goods or services, but that’s not always the case. At least not for me. Not with Roz.

Roz was my therapist for over 15 years. I didn’t end things because I became a model of exemplary mental health. That said, mental health was a factor.

I love tales of ESP, ghosts, UFOs, whatever—if you have something paranormal or beyond explanation to talk about, I’m in.

That’s not to say I believe everyone who claims they can read minds, talk to the dead, or see the future. Probably 99% of them are frauds. But I do think there are some people who can tap into things that most of us can’t.

Most of you, I should say. Because, according to an app I recently downloaded, it appears that I have the gift.

A lot of people who are supposed to know what they’re doing, don’t. Realizing that is important.

Late one night, Pete decided he couldn’t stand to have his sofa in his apartment for another minute. He dragged it out the door, down the stairs, and to the complex’s dumpster. The sense of relief was immense, he told us.

It was that story that compelled us to invite ourselves over. His apartment was everything he’d said it was, and less.

I’m so glad there was no internet when I was growing up. Sure, it would have made writing a term paper on the Louisiana Purchase easier. But on the other hand, when I did something embarrassing, no one was posting or texting a photo of it around for everyone I knew to see. We ruined each other’s lives face-to-face, with gossip and slander, like civilized people.

Usually, if my car is weaving out of its lane, it’s because I’m doing something I shouldn’t, like straining to reach an errant Tic Tac, or trying to scare a roadside drifter.

On this particular Friday, however, it felt like the alignment was off. I’d had the car inspected at the dealership the day before, so I called Joe, the service department manager. He said they hadn’t done anything that could cause any steering problems, and told me to bring it back in on Monday and they’d take a look.

Right.

Note: There comes a time when we heed a certain call. That time is now, and that call is “spoilers ahead.”

If you haven’t seen The Greatest Night in Pop, Netflix’s documentary about the making of “We Are the World,” stop reading this, go watch it, and meet me back here in 97 minutes. I’ll wait.

From the project’s genesis to the planning to the execution, it’s fascinating. All of it.

Sometimes I hear voices. Well, one voice, really. It’s sort of my voice, but it’s sort of not. It belongs to my alter ego. And he’s a raging prick.

He knows exactly what buttons to push, and gets his jollies by telling me what a phony I am.

His formal name is Impostor Syndrome, but I call him B****y McCharlatan.