Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Confessions! Scaredy Pants

First, for those who are wondering how the Artist's back is doing after digging through 3.6 tons of snow (once again, I really strive for accuracy on this blog) I am chagrined to announce that the next door neighbor saved him from injury by lending him a powerful snowblower.
Thank you, kind neighbor. You really are a champ.
But how is the Artist ever going to learn that I am right if you always swoop in and save him at the last minute? ;)

So the question for today is:

What do you fear?

Somebody dim the lights and play ominous music.
I actually don't have the typical fears of psychopath killers breaking into my home (As mentioned in other posts, I put up a mean fight with a laundry basket) or malevolent haunts coming to seek vengeance on the mother all alone in her dark house. And I am not one of those moms who is terrified of her children being kidnapped. Mostly because I have come to the conclusion that after one hour of whining, bickering, sulking, complaining, 143 questions and 62 requests for a snack, the harried kidnapper would bring my children right back and agree that crime does not pay!
In truth, all those things - ghosts, evil people, evil ghosts- are creepy and horrible. So I don't think about them. I never, never watch anything scary on T.V. (photographic memories are not always good) and I don't ever try to scare myself. I don't like feeling scared. My sis, Jungle Jane and her hubby, Iron Man, like to frequently feel like they are being snatched from the Jaws of Death.
I don't even like writing Jaws of Death.

So yes, deep down I fear tragedies and illness and death and evil, like everyone. But I don't stew over any of those things.

Here is what scares me on a regular basis.
1. Heights.
I call it Death Height. When I reach a height that would result in death or paralysis if I fell, I start looking for a way back down. I am the kid who climbed down the high dive.
I must interrupt this post to apologize to my fearless brothers, Rocky and Rockefeller, for being unable to laugh in the face of death. Despite their reckless examples, I was born without that stellar gene.

2. Spiders
I don't know why those two extra legs really do it for me, but they do. Shudder. Shudder. I really can't write anymore. My shoulders are doing the spider boogy dance.

3. Teeth.
My teeth are crooked. I sometimes have nightmares that they go more crooked. This terrifies me. Oh, the vanity!

4. I fear not being useful.
That is my favorite word. Useful. When I feel useful I feel powerful. I feel special. I feel important. I once endured a long illness that made me positively useless. I couldn't help anyone. I couldn't do anything for myself. I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life.

5. Being eaten. Don't laugh. Highly valid fear. I refuse to live where I am not at the top of the food chain. I don't do sharks or bears or cougars or Siberian Tigers or crocodiles. I am not going out inside something's mouth!

6. That Toddlers and Tiaras show about little girls in glitzy pageants. Far more disturbing than a horror movie.

I think I could handle a wily ghost or two, or do damage to an intruder or two, so long as they didn't throw spiders at me, knock out my teeth and force me to climb onto a precipice while telling me that I am "useless" and lowering me into a pit of crocodiles.
Dang it. I just gave away all my secrets.
Now my arch enemy will foil me at last...

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