||[Aug. 10th, 2011|10:17 am]
This one I knew would be hard. I am missing a lot of very sensible fearpoints. I have an overwhelming abundance of confidence around animals of all kinds. I’m not saying I won’t experience fear around animals – walking through the woods and approaching a small rise and hearing a mountain lion *Cough* on the other side…yeah. And brushed by a shark out in the ocean, there was some very I AM NOT AN INJURED SEAL BUT A VERY HEALTHY SEA CREATURE SWIMMING VERY FAST toward shore. But I can’t generate even caution in advance and even have a very stupid lack of fear around walking late at night, by myself, for example or confronting possibly dangerous people or situations. Although, I CAN scare the bejeezus out of myself walking alone at night someplace isolated. I have a vivid imagination and a solid foundation of horror films packed away in my brain. I will never think I hear a mugger coming up behind me, but can totally imagine a Dire Wolf or zombie sneaking up on me. |
An expiration date on myself as a desirable woman. I feel like there’s a clock ticking and a race I’m losing. I will admit that I am happily surprised at how many men still do like to hunt in their own age range or even slightly older. But as I get older that number will drop. And at a certain point...the race will be lost and I just hope I come gracefully to it. I don’t want to be one of those old ladies scrabbling for the attention of one of the three men in the nursing home who can still feed himself.
Falling. Edges. Being on ladders and having them collapse. Losing my rhythm on a long flight of stairs and just tumbling down face first. Oddly enough I can be in a helicopter, lean out over the ground and be fine. I can be on the top of a building and as long as there is some kind of waist high barrier, I’m fine. If there are cut outs along the bottom, though, and I can see them, I am DONE for.
Cutting myself. My knife skills are VERY good. But I also have extremely poor depth perception. And I do things with FORCE. BONE-CLEAVING force. I HAVE to pay attention when I cut things. I shouldn’t be talking to someone, or being talked to. I actually have had very few knife cuts, considering. Mostly it’s a side-dink while cleaning or moving a knife. But I’ve also had a few edge of thumb landings, which mostly have been stopped or at least slowed by my fingernail and am grateful that I was able to pull back the second I feel the blade hitting the nail. But still. It’s why you’ll rarely see me doing much food preparation once guests arrive at a party or dinner – assembly ONLY, never knife work. Once the wine and conversation starts…knives go away.
Getting cancer and having a certain segment of friends blame it on the diet Mountain Dew. (As if years of being sprayed with pesticides as a young child while working on a farm, picking vegetables had nothing to do with it.) Note: not afraid of getting the cancer, so much as these people being right. Or about me being WRONG. This says a lot about a slightly unlovely aspect of my character. Sigh.
Being pitied. The worst thing about my marriage break-up was that there were people who knew about my husband’s affair and I did not. Mind you, I don’t hold them responsible for telling me – that is a HARD place to be and having been in it myself…there’s no way in hell I’m going to judge anyone. But I minded that people thought I was clueless – THAT is unbearable. And really resented him for reveling in keeping a secret from me. The affair itself…whatever. If only he’d asked up front. So, the thought that other people would feel SORRY for me...poor, deluded…shudder. I don’t ever want to be THERE again.
Being one step away from financial disaster. They say that money can’t buy happiness. And I guess that’s true if you don’t know how to be happy. I’m pretty damn sure I could manage a lot more happy if I weren’t afraid of the wolf at the door. Right now, I’m sitting on a pile of carefully scrimped and saved money that I’m supposed to be using to fix the house. And I’m petrified that as soon as I write the deposit check, as SOON as I sign the work order, the engine will fall out of my car, I will need a new kidney and four root canals and the hot water heater will blow up in the basement. It’s paralyzing. I piled up debt during the time I shuttered my business and started working full time for the man again, plus the divorce and while I now finally make if not decent, at least reasonable money, and am energetically chipping away at the debt, and have a reasonable start on retirement, I am very borderline day to day and live in fear that I’ll never be able to travel again, or will wind up eating catfood and working at Wal-mart in my dotage.
Loud crowded places. Although I don’t really FEAR that in advance – it’s just that when I’m in a crowded place, with loud talking or other noise, my whole head swells with fear and panic and it blots out everything except “Get OUT”. Okay, there’s maybe a little bit of room for RAGE, which is even more frightening. But yeah, if you’re at my house and the talking swells to a certain point, I WILL holler for everyone to take it down a notch, because it’s either that or I take off, or break something or…I don’t really know, I just need to make it stop. I’ve found I have to carefully limit the number of people if I’m going to be inside – it never used to be that big of a problem, but now that I know so many performers…who can PROJECT…it’s a problem. And if you’ve ever wondered why I suddenly vanish from a party without saying goodbye – I probably came close to that panic point. Like say, this past weekend.
Hand guns. I know how to shoot them. I know the rudiments of loading and cleaning, but barely. The people in my life who have had guns have been pretty darn responsible about keeping them – safe storage, safe handling. But still. I have people on the outer fringes of my life who have lost their lives, minds, bodyparts to dumb gun accidents. And most people ARE morons. And even smart people can BE morons, from time to time. For me, a gun represents the shortest, easiest line from stupid to dead and unlike the “hey, hold my beer and watch THIS”, it’s usually not a Darwinian self-ending, the moron is often not the victim. I have thought from time to time of having one just because it often falls to me to euthanize animals. But instead I’ve learned other methods. A tire iron will do. If I lived out in the country, I might consider a rifle. But otherwise, will never own one. Unless the zombie apocalypse comes and then...seriously, all bets are off. And I'd probably have to re-write this list.