There's nothing like have an anxiety problem where you sometimes have this feeling of vague impending DOOM.
There's no reason for it. It's just there.
'Cause what's worse about being anxious about something?
BEING ANXIOUS ABOUT NOTHING!!!
It's really hard to reason yourself out of being anxious when you don't even know why you're anxious. Just sayin'...
And then I start worrying about the anxiety. It just keeps building on itself like a snowball rolling down a mountain. The chest pain starts, the shallow breathing, etc... The physical symptoms make the anxiety even worse because then I start worrying about having a heart attack. It's my body's way of saying, "I'LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO WORRY ABOUT...MWAHAHA". I'm positive my body laughs at me in a evil manner all the freakin' time.
Now on top of feeling something bad is going to happen, I'm dealing with worrying that I'm going to have a heart attack.
I think I'm going to have to make this The Weekly Doom because it's just to damn hard to come up with one every day. As you can see I've been struggling to write lately.
So, I've covered stair doom before...falling down stairs. Pretty straightforward, right?
Well this one is a little different.
What if one of my housemates is coming down the stairs while I'm getting dressed and BAM a stair breaks under their leg. They'd fall through the stair and beak their leg. They'd be yelling for help and possibly be bleeding out. (you never know, am I right?)
And there I'd be in the middle of putting my pants on wondering if I should just run out like that to help or take a moment to finish getting dressed before I went to help.
If I went out immediately, I would be indecent.
If I finished getting dressed, they could get angry at me or they could lose their leg, or worst case scenario, they could die stuck in the middle of the steps.
Because obviously their pain and suffering is ALL ABOUT ME. *sigh*
What in thee hell are cat hairs made of? Itching powder in strand form?
Have you ever gotten one of these fuckers in your eye? If you own cats, I'm sure you have.
There's that first moment of "shoot, I've got something in my eye". Then you start trying to get it out. You poke and poke and rub your eyeball trying to get that barely visible evil little fucker to stick to your finger so you can pull it out. It doesn't.
And your eye is now red, watering and even more itchy.
You rub your eye some more still hopeful that you can get this piece of freakin' cat shrapnel out of your eye.
But to no avail. It's firmly stuck in there and eventually disappears behind your eye or something because the itch is still there but you can't see it anymore. I'm sure by now I've got enough cat hair behind my eye that my brain could cough up a hairball.
Now what's going to happen? You can't stop rubbing your itchy eye so you accidentally tear that clear membrane on your eyeball? All because of a freakin' cat hair.
You start calling your cats assholes (oh who am I kidding, I already do that) but at the same time you pet them and get even more cat hair on your hand which may or may not end up on your face.
And the cycle starts again.
Why do I love my cats? Why?
I typed this with a cat hair in my left eye, by the way.
Everyone knows that most new shoes need to be broken in a little bit, so why do I ALWAYS forget this fact when it comes to sandals?
Last week I bought myself a new pair of sandals (cheap ones, nothing fancy) that felt very comfortable.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
I wore them for a short outing on Friday and they were good. No problems. I thought I was free and clear to wear them for a longer outing.
Along comes Saturday and I'm out and about all day walking around in these sandals when, BA-BAM (thank you swiffer lady for giving me that expression), shoe burn hits with a vengeance. Do you know what shoe burn is? It's basically a friction burn on the bottoms of your feet when you break in a new pair of sandals.
And it bloody hurts. It feels like you're rubbing the skin right off the bottoms of your feet.
My feet are still a bit tender today.
Shoe burn. It is evil.
You'd think I'd remember by now that this happens every damn time I get a new pair of sandals.
Ever tried to make a bed or fold laundry or for that matter DO ANYTHING with a cat around????
Try 3 cats.
Yeah. You know what I'm talking about.
They're lucky they're cute and purr in your ear.
I'm positive they've got a secret society where they plan how to rule the humans and put dogs in their place. At least I'm sure my cats are organized. I think they hold staff meetings while I'm asleep.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, CATS ARE ASSHOLES.
As a kid I couldn't handle them at all. Even in my late teens and early twenties I didn't like them.
Now? Well, now it's sort of a love/hate relationship with them. I love getting sucked into watching them but I hate how they can sometimes get into my head and creep me right the hell out. Because, yanno, horror movies have such incredibly plausible story lines that I might end up in one. You never know, am I right? Right?
IT'S JUST A MOVIE.
It doesn't help when you're alone and you have 3 cats that randomly stare at nothing. NOTHING. Are they staring at a ghosts are is an epic game of "made you look". Cats are assholes and I wouldn't put it past them.
But I watch them anyway. Inevitably I watch them at night, get creeped out, and then spend the rest of the night turning on lights and jumping at random household noises.
No I didn't get arrested. Why would you think that?
So we all know when a police car is going down the road with sirens blaring, you get out of the way. Right?
What do you do when you're in the middle of the intersection? I had people on all sides of the intersection and behind me.
This just happened to me.
I didn't know what to do so I stayed put. I feel like I should have put my hazard lights on so the police would know that I saw them coming. But I didn't. I froze. Literally.
Now I feel like the police are going to hunt me down, give me a ticket which I won't be able to pay, impound my car, arrest me, the judge will set my bail to an amount I can't pay, my friends and family will be ashamed of me, and I'll spend my days rotting in jail.
Makes sense, right?
WHY DOES MY BRAIN OPERATE LIKE THIS?
And what the hell do you do when you can't go anywhere anyway?
I have trouble going outside. The outside world seems big and scary and like a big weight on my shoulders pressing me down into the ground.
You know, 'cause air is so heavy.
I also have social phobia which makes me fear being seen or talked to when I finally do make it outside.
Cut to this morning and I have to go get the morning paper at the end of our long-ass driveway. The sky is blue, it's beautiful out and I'm hiding behind the back door willing myself to turn the knob and go outside. Finally I do it. I just take a breath, twist that knob, and all of the sudden I'm out in the fresh air.
Ok, now what?
I literally start to hug the back wall of the house like I'm walking along a building ledge and creep along until I'm at the corner of the house.
I peek around the corner like any good covert ops person would do. Hey, I've seen movies, right? I return flat backed against the back wall and breathe like I'm about to turn the corner and fight for my life.
No one there.
I can do this.
I take a deep breath and turn the corner. Then I slowly walk towards the paper at the end of the driveway while scanning the scenery like a terminator looking for humans.
Still no one.
I grab the paper and make a bee-line towards the house. Why is it called a bee-line anyway? Don't bees have that figure 8 dance that they do?
But I digress.
I make it around the corner and quickly get myself through the back door again. I flop against that back door and pant with relief like I've just finished running a mile. (Not that I ever have run a mile. It's what I imagine, okay?)
I MOTHERFUCKING DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It could be anything from a giant mechanical King Kong on an amusement park ride (totally happened) to a giant claw at a scrap metal yard (also happened). I'm not afraid of the fact that it's King Kong. I'm afraid of the fact that it's a giant machine. Same with the scrap metal claw. It's a giant machine.
They all give me the oogies. More than the oogies...all out panic. I mean who's controlling those things anyhow? It certainly isn't me. For all I know, gerbils are running around controlling it while plotting the demise of the human race in revenge for all the Richard Geere jokes.
I also picture them being artificially intelligent and under the control of no one. SKYNET HAS TAKEN OVER, PEOPLE! Next thing you know there's a war between humans and machines and the giant mechanical King Kong gets a glowing eye and the urge to kill all the people in Disneyland over the existence of the cronut burger. Some would argue that if we invent shit like that, of course the machines would think us worthy of extinction.
I know that's not true. I do.
But still somehow large machinery still freaks me right the hell out.
I always have this fear that not only will I be incapable of parallel parking but it will also cause some sort of road rage incident if I even try. I picture some crazy person getting out of their car with a tire iron or something to smash my car to bits if I don't perfectly park on the first attempt.
ONE MUST ACHIEVE PERFECTION OR ALL IS LOST!!!! People will rage, the earth shall split asunder, I will be judged harshly for my lack of parallel parking prowess!!!!
As a result, normally I completely forgo parallel parking and look for spaces that I can just pull into head first. Yeah, I'm chickenshit. There I said it.
I have a small car. It's great for that. I love my car. But in a purely platonic way...just sayin'...
So today I'm off to an appointment and the only space I could find was a parallel parking space AND there's a truck behind me. HOLY SHIT I'm gonna die if I try this, I just know it. And the guy in the truck is going to honk at me and tell me off for holding him up if I try it. That's what I'm thinking.
I know, I know, you must be thinking, "why does she care what the guy in the truck is going to think or do?" And you would be right to think that.
BUT I'M NOT RATIONAL plus I've got a nice big fat anxiety disorder which makes everything feel like a life or death situation.
You know what though? I took a deep breath, put my blinker on, motioned the truck to pass me, and I parallel parked my Mandie-mobile perfectly on my first attempt.
SUCK IT DOOM. I'VE GOT YOUR NUMBER TODAY.
Sure it took me 2 frikken tries to back out of the driveway without hitting a tree but parallel parking is my bitch today.
I somehow injured my right shoulder just over a week ago.
WILL IT EVER GET BETTER?
Do you ever get that feeling (especially as you get older) that you're falling apart and this is the beginning of the end? The injuries you get now will become permanent problems and you'll just keep getting more and more problems.
I guess that's the plight of the middle age. Is 43 middle age? I dunno.
Once I accidentally washed a glass with a crack in it. It broke and sliced my finger open.
Now whenever I hand wash anything made out of glass I expect it to shatter on me and cut me.
This has also migrated to other sharp things, say, a big chef's knife. I picture accidentally slicing myself open while washing it every damn time.
'Cause there's nothing better when you're washing breakable or sharp things than to be distracted, am I right?
I'm washing a big knife later. Anything could happen.
Or you know, nothing 'cause I'm just being irrational as usual.
I have 3 cats. No I'm not a cat lady yet...I swear. I'm pretty sure you need at least 6 or more to be a cat lady.
Sorry Mom. You just might be a cat lady.
Notice that I left out "crazy". While I do think that bowing down to our cat overlords is a bit crazy, I don't think it makes you a crazy cat lady. Crazy cat lady would have to be 15 or so cats.*
But who cares, right? This ain't about the number of cats you have. This is about having a smelly cat.
One of my 3 cats has long hair and let's just say that sometimes...umm...things get stuck to his hiney that I like to call "cling-ons". Yep, occasionally he gets a poop stuck in his pants. I keep his butt hair trimmed the best that I can but sometimes it just happens, yanno?
And he becomes " THE SMELLIEST CAT IN THE WORLD ".
I swear to god I've cleaned him 3 times now and he still stinks to me. It's probably a bad idea to febreze him, right? <sigh>
See now I think I can never have anyone over because I never know when he's going to get a cling-on and then stink for the whole day no matter how much I clean him. This could spiral out of control until it invariably ends in me shaving the poor cat bald. He's a big cat too so I don't think he'd look especially good bald. It might make him downright angry and nobody holds a grudge better than a cat ( as cat owners well know ).
There ya go. My life could be ruined over because of a smelly, angry cat.
And I would take it too because he'd turn around and do something cute making me go, "aww who's a handsome kitty?".
Smelly cat bastard.
Why does he have to be cute?
*It's not a fact. It's just me making shit up 'cause it's my blog and I can.
Yesterday I was out an about. I'm Canadian so hear that in your head as oot and aboot if you must, I won't blame you.
Anyhow, I was really thirsty. The kind of thirsty that makes you throat close up and your mouth all pasty and gross. At one of my stops, I pulled some gum out of my purse and, lo, my mouth wasn't so dry anymore. Yay! Everything is a-ok again.
I then start to drive home. A 35ish minute drive. I'm happily chewing away on my gum and popping it since I'm alone (I would never do that with anyone around because I know how irritating it is). The drive is going smooth and the mixed bag weather was holding out to just being grey and windy.
All of the sudden I start thinking...
What if I choke on the gum while driving?
And I can't get the thought out of my head.
I would choke on my gum, and get into a car accident while suffocating on a stupid piece of gum. All of the sudden my gum is not my dry mouth saviour but the anti-christ. At best I'm going to go off the road and end up in a ditch. At worst I'm going to somehow take out a family and forever be known as the murderer of people by gum.
There will be a law enacted called "Amanda's Law" wherein you cannot chew gum while driving and because it's a law, people will purposely ignore it just like they do with the texting/phoning and driving laws. I'll have started a line of carnage throughout history of people claiming they can "gum and drive".
So what do I do? I reach for a tissue to get the gum out of my mouth and while reaching I almost drive off the road. Ok, it wasn't that close, but it could have been! There was definitely a minor swerve.
Let this be a lesson to you all. Do not "gum and drive"!
Nobody likes to drive in freezing rain. Well today it can't decide whether or not to snow or rain or even be sunny out, so it's somewhere in between. That makes me worried about freezing rain.
See I have an appointment today and that means driving into the city. Driving country roads in freezing rain isn't fun. Especially since people don't seem to appreciate it when I drive the speed limit. Everyone wants to race along those roads. Personally I can't afford a ticket much less be in an accident so the speed limit (or a smidge over) is what I drive.
I will quite happily give other drivers opportunities to pass me but often THEY WON'T TAKE IT. They'd rather ride up my freakin' bumper even when it's snowing or something out. Even when I get into those 2 lane passing areas, people won't pass right away.
JUST STOP IT!
Pass me or back off, especially when the weather is bad. I'd rather not get into an accident and end up in a ditch. I don't want to need the jaws of life to get out of my car!
You know what I'm talkin' about. That inner dialogue you have with yourself about everything including all the things you think but would never say.
See, I'm fairly certain that even the nicest person has an inner angry little troll shouting out obscenities and judgements in your brain. Well, at least, I picture a troll. You can picture whatever you want.
If I'm wrong about everyone else having this inner voice, don't tell me. I find comfort in thinking I can't possibly be the only one. Although, I'm thinking inside that if you say you don't have that inner voice, you must be lying.
Thankfully we have filters that keep all that cray cray shit in there where it belongs. OK, most of us have filters. Mostly.
Can you imagine if we could hear everyone's inner voice?
All hell would break loose. It would be chaos. "Dogs and cats living together...MASS HYSTERIA!!!"*
Or it could whip us into shape and fix the human race so we wouldn't be such assholes to each other anymore.
Or possibly all sorts of people would just avoid me.
I can't decide.
*quotation from Ghostbusters. Said by Dr. Peter Venkman. Everyone should quote from Ghostbusters don't you think? It's an awesome movie.
The first rule of "Hair Dye Club" is to forget the test strip and just go all in right away. Admit it, most of us do it. There is no shame.
However, we approach the box of dye with certain expectations:
1. Your hair won't fall out
2. It will actually turn out the colour it shows in the commercials.
IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK FOR???
I guess hair dye is more like gambling than I thought it would be.
Now I'm no stranger to dying my hair red. In fact for a couple of years now, I've been dying it an extreme fake red colour that I love. The only problem is that particular dye is hard to get a hold of so I only do it every few months or so.
Yesterday my hair was all faded out. Not life threatening, I know.
I decided to try drugstore dyes again in since I won't be getting my preferred dye anytime soon. I just bought a hair dye called "Runway Red". In the commercials it looks all fake and scarlet...just the way I like it.
I trusted the advertising.
Did it turn out that way?
Instead of being close to my signature colour like I thought it would be, it turned out a very orangey red.
Yep. I know in the grand scheme of things it ain't no big thing.
Why on earth do spiders like to sneak up on you in the shower?
Because they're assholes, that's why.
Every time I close my eyes in the shower I expect to open them to see a spider preparing to launch and stick to my face like one of those face huggers from Alien. Sadistic bastards.
I can't stand how people say that they're much more afraid of me than I am afraid of them because, without fail, when a spider appears in the shower with me, it makes a bee-line for me. It does NOT run screaming the other way shouting, "OH MY GOD IT'S MANDIEEEE RUN AWAY!!!!!!!"
Do I have some sort of target on me while in the shower? Do spiders put out little "wanted" posters with my face all plastered over them with a reward for scaring me in the shower?
Now if you'll excuse me I'm off to spider-check my shower.
Have you ever found yourself alone in a social situation where someone has cornered you and is talking up a storm about something you have absolutely no interest in? Or better yet, the person irritates you beyond belief but you just can't seem to extricate yourself from the situation.
That's where a wingman comes into play. And when I say "wingman" I mean man or woman. It's just a term.
Ok, I admit, it's a pretty mild doom in general but if you've already got social anxiety like me, that brings the feeling of doom up a notch or two.
See a lot of us go into social situations with a wingman. A friend or significant other with whom you have the agreement to rescue each other from said awkward situations. A simple look in their direction is often enough to have them come and take you away from what is sure to be the most boring and/or irritating conversation ever. But with no wingman you're stuck, frantically thinking of a way to escape, ready to chew off a foot, and looking for a way out.
Unfortunately the only example I can think of is the time when someone cornered me at my late husband's funeral and began talking to me about god know's what. AND THEY WOULDN'T STOP. Luckily my sister must have noticed my blank face because she rescued me. Just when I thought I was without a wingman, she saved me!
Ok, ok, so there are a lot of people out there who are confident or blunt enough not to need a wingman.
I am not such a person.
I needs me a wingman.
Have you been caught without your wingman? I'd love to hear about it.
My legs go weak and shaky, my breathing quickens, and my heart pounds. I turned into a shaking pile of goo when I tried to put a single foot on the glass floor of the CN Tower. No can do. I have to hand it to those kids who sprawl all over the glass floor and lick it as they look down. Yep, I saw one lick it. Hey, he was a kid, what does he know, right?
I can't so much as walk next to a railing (especially a glass one) on a second floor without having to hug the inner wall. I think I've mastered the art of hugging the wall discreetly. Maybe.
Oh and those freakin' exposed tread stairs where you can see right through them as you make your way up! Who invented those....Satan?
What about feeling that fear so much that it becomes a sort of compulsion or obsessive thought that becomes a tension that needs to be resolved? You start feeling that falling or dropping what you're holding is inevitable ramping up the fear even more.
Then what do you do?
Avoidance is my strategy and it's worked pretty well so far.
As for the things that can't be helped? Well, you can always fake a sports injury and take the elevator.
Oh, glass elevators...fuck...this world is out to get me.
What's that old saying? There's two things for sure in life...death and taxes.
Every year like so many others, I dread getting my taxes done.
For a lot of people I think it's sort of like telling the government to give you a root canal every year whether or not you get a refund. You sit there in the chair and bear the pain of the paperwork or online software while Revenue Canada gleefully digs around your sensitive areas. If you're lucky, the root canal goes smoothly. If you're not lucky...well...let's just say it can go from a root canal to a full fledged rectal exam.
Most of us just hate doing taxes.
But you know what? My taxes are done for another year and I survived.
It's also the first day of spring and I got to drive with the window down.
The cold war has been over for quite some time, right?
Then why do I still worry about nuclear war and the possibility of WWIII? (Because people are idiots, that's why.)
I blame my fascination with disaster movies. Oh and the fact that in grade 8 they showed us a movie all about a nuclear holocaust 'cause what's better than scaring the crap out of a bunch of 13/14 year olds?
The funny thing is I don't even care about the doomsday clock because I always just assume is next to midnight.
Despite that I'm not a doomsday prepper. You see, if it happens, I am completely unprepared. Would I be forced to eat my cats? More likely I'd die and they'd eat me...ha!
Or what if the human race goes all mutant-like and we worship our mutated cockroach overlords?
The end of the world.
The possibilities are limitless for a mind with a wild imagination.
Once upon a time I had a friend stay overnight. We were just beginning university and still very young. I tossed and turned on the extremely old and uncomfortable sofa bed when all of the sudden my friend passed wind in her sleep.
Passed wind is too mild a term, really. She actually let one rip so loud that I'm surprised the pictures didn't fall off the wall. I, of course, thought it was hilarious.
But it also got me thinking.
If she could pass gas like that in her sleep, then what if I did?
Ever since then, I've been nervous about sleeping in front of people.
It doesn't help that this one time I apparently did that very thing and my late husband thought it was so funny that his stifled laughter shook the bed. I went to work that day asking everyone if they felt the earthquake that night. TRUE STORY.
And now, for lack of a better term, I've got fart doom.
Yup. I'm afraid of farting in my sleep in front of other people.
I thought I'd pay homage to St. Patrick's Day today by talking about my fear of snakes since, according to mythology, St. Patrick drove the snakes from Ireland.
You may think a fear of snakes is common and rational, and yes, I'm afraid of snakes in general but...BUT what I'm really afraid of is a snake coming up through the toilet and biting me right on the ass.
Because that's rational, right?
It's especially rational considering there are pretty much only harmless garter snakes in the area where I live. What are the odds one is going to make it through the septic system and up through my toilet to bite me in the ass.
Do power outages creep anyone else out besides me?
Everything is so quiet. Too quiet is creepy.
I start thinking that the power outage is some sort of first stage to an apocalypse. Like ZOMBIES. Hahaha. Ok so I'm a little fixated on zombies. I admit it.
Or I start imagining that the power will never come back on and people will start looting, because, you know, that's a rational thought.
Crazy thinking aside, power outages are a hassle where I live because we're on a well and septic system. No power = no water. No water = nothing to drink and no bathroom. Well I suppose it's good there's nothing to drink because you don't want to have to pee really badly when there's no bathroom. Ok so you could pee and not flush but, let's face it, that's not a pleasant long term option.
I'm not even going to get into if you have to poop. Ok I will a little bit. Getting into a car and going somewhere just to poop is just plain inconvenient and nobody likes to poop in public, am I right?
The power was out for 45 minutes today. Not a long time but long enough for the creep factor to sink in. I tell ya, I don't want to live in a post apocalyptic world. I don't have the skills for it!
I would probably lose a ton of weight though if the zombies didn't chew on my fat butt first.
Not all of my Dooms are going to be about death and destruction. Some are strictly about humiliation which, for me, might as well be death and destruction because humiliation makes me want to crawl under the proverbial rock and die.
So what does Hello Doom mean? It doesn't mean "hello doom, how are ya doin'?". It's a doom, I don't have to be polite to it. Besides, dooms are assholes. They're everywhere, everybody has them, and they're usually full of shit.
No I'm actually referring to saying "hi" to people. Yeah, really. It's a doom for me. You see, I get anxious very easily and when I'm anxious I start stuttering which is freakin' humiliating. Meeting new people or even saying "hi" to people in the street is enough to get the stutter machine gear up and start turning.
But what's worse than actually stuttering? Being afraid I'm going to stutter. I CAN'T WIN.
And it makes me want to get swallowed up by the earth and disappear.
Here's a quick but effective example.
I was helping a friend deliver art to a gallery in Toronto this one time. Conversation was happening around me but I was in the background quite happily in my own world being inconspicuous. All of the sudden the gallery owner/manager/whatever/ looks at me, holds out his hand, and says, "Nice to meet you.", with a smile.
Sounds normal and friendly right?
Not to me!
My heart starts pounding, my brain goes blank, and all I could muster blurting out was, "NICE!" while I shook his hand.
I'm thinking "oh my god, did I just do that?" while I looked into his eyes and saw definite confirmation that yes, indeed, I just did that. He was looking at me like I was on a timer ready to explode in his gallery.
I was certain that I would die of humiliation right there on the spot. I would fall over, maybe take some art with me on the way down and just lay there dead. My obit would read, "Here lies Amanda. Her last word was NICE!".
Apparently I'm not the only one too because there was a horror movie made called "The Fog".
Ok, so there may or may not be scary killer things lurking in fog but one thing is for sure, driving in thick fog, especially at night, is enough to make anyone white knuckle it. I've driven in pea soup fog a few times and now the slightest bit of fog makes me feel DOOM.
Nuh-uh. No thank you. Barely being able to see in front of my car is just not my idea of a good time.
Fog...what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Say it again.
Slipping and cracking my head off the tile wall or marble threshold. I picture myself laying all legs and arms splayed, broken, like a jigsaw puzzle that needs putting together.
But who cares about broken bones, am I right?
I shudder at the thought of the water going cold while I lay there helpless weakly crying out for help.
The cats would meow at me from the other side of the door thinking it's some sort of game. Or more likely the cats would want me to get the hell out of the bathroom and feed them 'cause let's face it, cats are assholes.
But worst of all is the idea of finally getting help because that means NAKEDNESS.
Why oh why is the thought of someone seeing me naked and all folded up on the shower floor worse than lying there with my bones broken? I know I'm huge and no swimsuit model but priorities, man!
I've taken pictures of my feet in 2 different oceans. Very touristy I know, don't judge me. Thankfully it was off season both times so I didn't really have to worry about the "should I swim in the ocean" question.
Seems like most people wouldn't have a second thought about it.
Not me and my brain.
Creepy ass bastards!
Alien, transparent, stingy, creepy ass bastards. Some can even kill you.
I've seen pictures of an entire ocean flooded with them leaving a person no room to move without swimming into dozens of the creepy dangerous things.
NO THANK YOU.
I love to swim as much as the next person but I really don't know if I could make myself swim in an ocean with the possibility of jellyfish...no matter how remote. I don't want one sting much less be covered in them and stung all over. What if I swam into a ton of them, got attacked and drowned with them all stuck to me. Again. No thank you.
How many OCD tendencies do you have? I have a couple.
(I'm not trying to take anything away from someone who struggles with full blown OCD. I can't imagine how hard it must be to live that way.)
This time I'm talkin' doors. Not The Doors, but doors that you walk through.
Every time I leave the house I have to push on a door exactly 3 times. Why? Because I imagine all sorts of doom and gloom happening to my cats should the door not be closed properly. It may swing open and my indoor cats could get out. They could get lost, hit by a car, eaten by a coyote (yes we have them down the street in a farm field), or freeze to death since it's winter right now. MY POOR CATS!!!!!!!!!!!
Also of concern is the laundry room door. One cat, Gonzo-man, has been locked in there twice now for several hours each time. He still tries to get in there, 'cause, let's face it, he's a cat and curiosity killed the cat. When it's laundry time around the house, I have to do a cat check before I can sleep just in case the darn cat has made it by the door and gotten locked in the room again. What if he gets locked in there and we all leave? What if he gets locked in there for a long time when it's really cold out and freezes and/or starves to death.
WHAT IF ALL THE BAD THINGS HAPPENED????
If I just checked stuff and pushed on that door 3 times, then it's all good and my cats are safe.
I have. And I wasn't even half as heavy as I am now.
I am now scarred for life you asshole of a dining room chair, thank you very much.
I now think I'm going to break every single chair that I sit in. Not only will I have to suffer through the humiliation of it but what if part of the chair goes right through my leg or stabs me in the ass? What the chair doesn't just shame and maim? What if somehow I bleed out and die from sitting on and breaking a chair?
Manhole covers. Yep, I'm talkin' manhole covers, grates, and metal plates. In the road or on the sidewalk, it doesn't matter.
I can't walk on them.
My legs turn to molten jelly at just the thought of stepping on those things.
What if I fall through?
Will I fall break a leg in a sewer surrounded by foul things and rats? What if the rats are really, really hungry and come at me with dinner on their nasty little minds? Would I get eaten or would they take pity on me and somehow turn me into their human overlord(lady?). I would live the rest of my days in the sewer ruling over my rat kingdom. I'd like to think I'd be a fair and benevolent ruler. I'd teach them things and in return they would bring me tribute. And eventually we'd plot to take over the world. Win/win, right?
Or, what if because of my size I get stuck on the way down and half of me is above ground and half of me is below? Humiliation AND panic all at the same time!
What if they have to jackhammer the pavement to get me out? Not to mention, what if this happens at night and no one notices me? If I'm in the street, I could get run over. Or maybe I'd become "sidewalk girl" and people would write songs about me.
That'd be an interesting headline in the papers.
It's better just to avoid stepping on these things all together, I think.
Sorry rats, you'll have to find someone new to lead you.
I'm not allergic to bees. I've been stung a couple of times.
For some reason I still imagine being chased by a cloud of angry bees bent on my destruction.
NOT THE BEES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
On T.V. and movies there's always a lake to jump into in order to escape but what if, in real life, there's no lake?
How do I outrun the bees?
When I was a kid I thought I was being chased by a bee, so I took off in a frantic run to escape what was sure to be an angry cloud of vengeful bees. I can't remember what happened but I do know it turned out to be a butterfly chasing me. Yeah. A butterfly. THE TERROR! My sister LOVES this story. I may have tripped over a tree branch in my frantic attempt to escape the enemy but I can't really remember.
All I know is my doom was put to the test that day and lo, the doom remains.
So here it is rounding the end of February and I'm wistfully thinking of summer. Boating, fishing, swimming...lakes and sunlight dancing on the water.
Except every single time I go swimming in the any lake I can't help but get a case of the oogies. I worry about getting caught in seaweed. I'm convinced that fish are going to bump into me and nip at me in irritation.
Worst of all though, I keep thinking that the lake is hiding a giant lake monster (I was going to say sea monster but that's just silly) that's going to come up from the depths and eat me.
Way back when Star Wars: Return of the Jedi came out, my sister and I were lined up in front of the old Nelson theatre in Ottawa waiting to get tickets. We were the only ones waiting at the time while our parents watched from the car across the street.
We stood there all excited to get tickets and see the movie but all of the sudden this guy came up to us and started chatting to us. He seemed kind of harmless at first, just chatty.
All of the sudden he looked at me and said, "you look like my sister." Big pause. "I hate my sister."
Oh hell, I'm dead.
He's going to attack and kill me, hurt my sister, and my parents are currently watching and laughing across the street with no knowledge that things had suddenly gotten weird. My sister would be maimed and scarred for life, my parents would forever feel guilty for laughing while I was being murdered before their eyes. It was an all around bad scene for everyone.
Just as I thought I was going to be in the papers as that girl who died trying to get tickets to Star Wars, he walked away.
By the way, the original trilogy is the only good trilogy. The prequel trilogy sucks ass.
So the other day my house mates went out for Thai food and brought me back some leftovers. Yay! I was looking forward to eating them for lunch the next day.
The next day, lunch rolled around and I happily dug in to my crispy ginger beef with rice and a noodle dish with bbq pork. It was awesome. The ginger beef is like candied meat and the noodle dish reminded me so much of a noodle dish that my Dad used to make.
I was enjoying myself.
Later on my house mates and I planned to go into the city which is over an hour away.
After we all piled into the car and set out on our way, my house mates mentioned that they had both been sick in the night. The only difference between them and I was the Thai food. AND I HAD JUST EATEN THE THAI FOOD.
I immediately stared thinking that I was a time bomb to food poisoning and we were going to be far from home.
Tick, tick, tick....
Every slight pain or uncomfortable feeling I felt was the beginning of the end, I was sure of it. When one pain passed the next pain was the beginning of the end.
I started thinking about where the bathrooms were located in the store we were visiting. I was filled with dread. Not only were the bathrooms gross and the stall doors were always broken but just the thought of experiencing food poisoning in public was enough to make this atheist start praying.
Because, of course, the food poisoning was INEVITABLE.
We went to the store, we went out to dinner.....tick, tick, tick....
Nothing yet, but disaster could still happen, I was certain of it. We still had a long drive home.
I'm standing at the top of the stairs and all of the sudden I think, is today the day I fall down the stairs and break my neck? Or will I lie at the bottom, maimed, with no one noticing while my 3 cats begin to gnaw at me to avoid starvation?
Now I always walk down the stairs, gingerly holding the rail, like a 95 year old frail lady.
While on my honeymoon with my late husband, one night we stayed in a ground floor room with patio doors. The curtains were open on one side and closed on the other. After entering the room I was fixated on the idea that someone was hiding outside behind the closed curtain with an axe.
Because, you know, axe murderers are such a common thing.
I couldn't move or relax until my late husband went and checked the closed curtain. He, of course, found this terribly funny and took as long as possible to go over and check behind the curtain. He even toyed with the curtain just to torture me a little (which I'm sure I had coming).
All of the sudden he yanked the curtain open with a flourish. I cringed.
Lots of people out there have chest freezers in their basement. I grew up with a particularly large one, say, one large enough to store a dead body.
Every damn time I went downstairs to get something out of that freezer I actually cringed when I lifted up the lid wondering if there would be a dead body in there.
Not only that but I would often balance myself on the side of the freezer, tottering on the edge, to get food out. What if there was a dead body (that for some reason I didn't see at first) and I fell into the freezer with the door shutting on top of me? What if I couldn't lift the lid from the inside for some reason? This would leave me stuck in the freezer with a dead body until someone found me or I froze to death resulting in 2 dead bodies in the freezer.
I live with 2 of my friends and one night while I was doing the dishes in their kitchen upstairs I thought to myself.... What if I somehow become dizzy, collapse, cut myself on the open dishwasher door getting blood everywhere, and break the dishwasher? Would they kick me out because I broke the dishwasher?
I live in a basement with the dining room upstairs above my bedroom. What if one night the ceiling caves in and the upstairs dining table which is a gargantuan oak table crashes though the floor and tries to kill me? Would I be able to roll towards the wall quick enough to avoid being crushed?