Let’s talk about irrational fears here for a bit, shall we?
For the sake of not feeling completely loseresque, I’m going to assume that everyone has some minor things that just creep them out (spiders, hair in food, snakes), or that they know are silly, but can’t stop their imaginations from indulging in anyway.
(For the record, I’m pretty sure The Boy does not have any such minor neuroses. It’s not that he has no imagination, it’s that he does not allow his to run amok and gambol freely about the place the way I do mine.)
Right. So we were talking about fears. In my case, although I dislike bugs, I’m not really all that scared of them. (Exception: venomous bugs, especially if winged. Ew.) Instead, I have a thing with mirrors, specifically mirrors in darkened rooms. I don’t know if all this madness started with the whole “Bloody Mary” thing in grade 3, or I watched one too many terrible, late-night horror flicks or what, but I try, as hard as humanly possible, to avoid looking at my own reflection in a very dark, but still slightly light room.
I’m not entirely sure what it is I’m afraid of seeing if I look up. A ghostly dead-person version of me? An angry, possessed spirit seeking vengeance? Carrie Fisher? Honestly, I have no clue. My mind just fills in that gap with HORROR-FEAR-DREAD-DON’T DO IT, so… I don’t.
If I’m stumbling into a bathroom in the dead of night, and there’s a faint glimmer of snowglow*, I will either look studiously at the floor, or stumble around with my eyes shut until I can hit the light switch. Similarly, if I’m wandering down a dark hallway with framed pictures, I will conveniently blink as I pass each shiny glass face to avoid the possibility of seeing… Something.
* You know, moonlight reflected off snow outside? That wondrous winter glow which I love… except when there are mirrors involved.
I don’t know what it all means. I don’t even know when it started. I do know that it’s a little ridiculous for a nearly-30 girl to be wandering about her house with her eyes squinched shut to avoid seeing a poorly lit reflection of herself (…or worse?). I suppose, as weird mini-neuroses go, that one’s not particularly harmful or inconvenient. Still, I do wonder if I’m the only one. I’m not, right? …Right? Bueller?
In other news, guess who has hankies!
Since I was at the downtown office today, I took the opportunity to wander around a bit and find a dry cleaner who charged me way more than I’d wanted to pay, but provided me, 6 hours later, with exactly what I wanted.
Thus far I have test-driven one of them in a hearty fashion (What? Was that too much information? Well I’m not sorry; the truth needed to be told.) and not only does it have much better structural integrity than your average tissue (yes, I know, Duh), but my choice of oh-so-soft flannel was ingenious.
Day 1 of handkerchiefdom: I love my hankies. Further opinions once they’ve been through the wash.