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Pessimistic Predictions

fearofdeath

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When Joe and I were planning our Disney World vacation/honeymoon (finally!), obviously I was excited. We booked the flight, the hotel, the whole shebang just three weeks before we were to embark on our magical journey to The Happiest Place On Earth. So while most people, immersed in such a scenario, are fidgeting with excitement at their work desks, planning every vacation day out in their minds…what was I doing?

I was picturing a shoelace caught in an escalator and me suddenly legless, four-car pileups on the way to work, a freak explosion erupting in my face while cooking dinner, murdered while fumbling for keys outside a dark house….

bad news,

bad news,

bad.

news.

Disney and death don’t exactly mesh together.

I held my breath as we boarded our flight from Philadelphia to Orlando, right by the airplane wing.

“Can you assist in an emergency?” the flight attendant asked the few of us seated in this area. Each one of us was required to call out an individual “yes”.

Then I was asked if I was at least fifteen, since that is how old you have to be to assist.

I stared while she demonstrated how to make use of the oxygen mask, the life vest, the seatbelt. When all was said and done I ordered a Jack and Coke.

Once we’d landed and made it out and to the resort, I breathed a sigh of relief and let Joe in on how crazy I was being. He laughed and told me not to worry. We had an amazing time.

But it isn’t just vacation, you see. At any given moment my brain will shoot out the sunlight and bring on the darkness, only it most enjoys playing target practice when I’m looking forward to something.

The only comfort I find when the scary kicks in is in thinking: how likely would it be that I am predicting my own death, right before it happens? Then surely I have some sort of powers!

Perhaps it’s just all that time I spend watching the ID channel, and writing about the macabre. Either way, one of these days my prediction will be right, but that’s okay. We all gotta go some time, so let’s make the most of this crazy life.

Does anyone else find their brains churning out such unwanted scenarios?

Oh, and check this out.

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Facing Your Inner Demon

This is terrifyingly awesome.

This is terrifyingly awesome.

 

We all have them, don’t we? Mine is a real bitch sometimes. I imagine she wears fuzzy house slippers, filthy from never taking them off. Maybe an old bath robe too. Curlers in her hair, smeared red lipstick, smoker’s cough, talks like she’s been chewing on rocks…OK so my inner demon is my old next-door-neighbor’s grandmother? Ugh.

I am an extremely sensitive person. I mean just the thought of something emotional is enough to send a tsunami of tears from my eyeballs. When Joe and I were still planning the wedding, the time I spent driving to and from places was used to go over my vows in my noggin and I can’t count how many times I almost broke down behind the wheel. Sometimes I cry watching lame TLC shows. Sometimes I stare at myself in the mirror and cry because I’m just so damn beautiful.

Okay, not really.

ANYWAY – my inner demon enjoys latching on to any new information that enters my ears and twisting it up like silly putty before flinging it into my brain, where whatever was said is now convincing me I’m a horrible person. Without getting into specifics, I’ve managed to convince myself of being quite a few things I’ve been told I’m not. Some really ugly, horrible things. The funny thing? A new tube of lipstick or a new outfit temporarily fixes this – I’ll find myself looking at my reflection, head cocked to one side, a smile on my lips. In those moments I feel powerful and attractive, intelligent, ready to recite poetry or attend a book reading. Put me in sweat pants and smeared eyeliner and suddenly I’m a different person. Let someone question the way my hair lays that day? Forget it. I try to melt into the nearest wall and disappear for good.

Does anyone ever feel like this? That inner voice, like a parasite feeding off any bit of darkness it can find. It tries to keep the light out. It tries as hard as it can. “Happiness doesn’t live here,” it says.

I try every day to battle it, to bring it down once and for all, but the damn thing never dies. It’s invincible, I think. But the best we can do is hold them at bay – do something meaningful every single day, spend time with those who want to spend their time lifting you up. Being born with a demon in your head doesn’t make you hopeless. Perhaps it’s even a blessing in disguise, focusing every day on being the best version of yourself possible.

So I guess I’ll consider myself unique. Beautifully unique. And every day I’ll get to mentally punch my neighbor’s grandmother in the face. She was a real bitch anyway.

xoxo

 

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