Hormgroids is my new favorite word/excuse. "I can't work out/do housework/be a grownup today because my hormgroids are acting up again." Perfect.

I'd like to believe that my inner life is rich, full and profound.  Mostly, though, the not-dark places are giant playgrounds where my inner not-grownup likes to play. And the dark bits? Monsters under the bed. Despite fears that the world is full of things that are out to gnaw on my exposed parts as soon as I get comfortable, they're mostly figments of my own imagination.