Hello, my name is Jen and I have illogical fears. For example, I truly believe that if you mess with your belly button, you may cause it to unravel, which would in turn cause your insides to fall out. That's just how my brain works. It starts out on the normal side of thought process (placing a hand near your belly button) and quickly escalates to coo-coo crazy land (AHH! My liver is escaping the hole where my belly button used to be!)
Now, my illogical fears just don't pertain to bodily functions. It is my biggest fear that some crazy serial killer is going to break into my house and chop me up into little pieces, probably only after performing unspeakable acts on me. One day, I was home alone, and FedEx came. They dropped off a large box. Keep it mind that it was a Saturday, and it was very early in the morning, perhaps around 8 AM. The boy wasn't around. I opened the door and peeked outside. I saw the box and slammed the door shut, dead bolting it. I truly believed that a very crafty killer (probably a midget killer at that) had put himself inside of the box and was waiting for me to bring it inside the house. Obviously, I looked like an idiot when the box turned out to be a copy/print/scan/fax machine and not a midget maniac.
It comes as no surprise that my fears run rampant when the boy is gone. And my two dogs, my two protectors, don't help the situation one bit. It's like they morph into crazy beasts when the boy leaves town, probably fueled by my sky rocketing paranoia levels. They bark and growl at the slightest noise, even if it's a leaf fluttering to the ground in NY. If they can hear it, they want it to fear them. And this of course, just makes me think that a killer really is inside my house.
The other night, I was casually watching TV with my dogs. Out of nowhere, a racket of growling and barking erupted. And this was no casual dog noise explosion. It was as if they had turned into wolves of some kind. So of course, I just KNOW that someone is inside of my house. I then have to find the boy's Bear Grylls knife and search all over the house for the "killer." I search behind shower curtains, I search under the bed, I search in closets. All while holding a very large hunting knife. I don't even think I could actually use said knife if my life really depended on it. I'd probably just pee my pants on the spot and start begging for my life. Anywho, here's a picture of the knife so you can fully understand how ridiculous I must have looked. And keep in mind that the whole time I was searching my house, I was also afraid that somehow a dog would jump up and that I'd accidently Bear Grylls them. My fears know no bounds.
Honestly, I really need to stop writing posts that make me sound like a lunatic. This is getting out of hand.
xoxo,
j
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