Fluffy vs. Overstuffed

I have an addiction that so far I've managed to keep in the privacy of my own home. It's not that I'm ashamed of my condition, it's just that circumstance has kept me away from indulging myself in public.
Hi, my name is Heather, and I'm addicted to stand-up comedy.
I've had this problem for 17 years. It all began when I had cable installed in my first rental house. In my own defense, I've learned to become more selective in my watching, turning off the too sweaty, the obviously trying too hard, and the crude for crude sake performers. Somewhat of a connoisseur at this late stage, my list of favorite "hits" has been whittled down to a select few, such as Gabriel Inglesies--purveyor of the statement "I'm not fat, I'm fluffy!". He's a laarrrggee guy. Jiggles and is jolly when he laughs, which is often and contagious!
But he got me thinking today as I was watching his special. Going through my book with a fine toothed comb, I have discovered that there are many places that cry out for *more*. Some embellishment, or more description of the protagonist's mood or motivation, just *more*. The problem is, I find myself reluctant to add anything, fearing I will move beyond "fluffy" to "overstuffed". From sweeping majestic description to plodding overstatement. Flinching before an editor even gets their hands on it, expecting to cut it before it's even written. Intellectually, I know it's self-defeating, but there are days when there's no reasoning with my inner editor. There are work-arounds for it, but they're pretty rash. Most of the time, taking an hour or so break gets everyone back in line, ready to be reasonable with addition and subtraction. There are days that I have to get nasty, though. That's when the drywall mud comes out, the paint cans get opened, and I turn my back on the book completely. I ignore it so well that after a few days, my muse and her editor have re-negotiated and are ready and willing to play ball. Those are the days that I hobble away from the computer with hands curled into claws from muscle strain. It's wonderful, I float up the stairs on a cloud of euphoria and pain. That is one reason I write. And it's more addicting than stand-up comedians, and just as puzzling.