Tag Archives: crazy

The Unluckiest of Phobias

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These are some of the phobias I’m currently cultivating.

C = Claustrophobia- Fear of confined spaces.
R = Rhytiphobia- Fear of getting wrinkles.
A = Arachnophobia- Fear of spiders.
Z = Zemmiphobia- Fear of the great mole rat.
I = Ideophobia- Fear of ideas.
E = Enosiophobia – Fear of having committed an unpardonable sin or of criticism.

T = Triskaidekaphobia- Fear of the number 13.
O = Obesophobia- Fear of gaining weight.
W = Walloonphobia- Fear of the Walloons.
N = Nucleomituphobia- Fear of nuclear weapons.

I know a lot of people that share my more common phobias; claustrophobia and arachnophobia, and most women over the age of fifty have a fear of wrinkles and gaining weight.  All the Catholics in the world probably share my fear of having committed an unpardonable sin and you’d have to be pretty obtuse not to have nucleomituphobia.

Until I wrote this blog post, I didn’t know I was afraid of the Great Mole Rat. Now that I know it exists, I’m definitely afraid of it.

Credit: Buffenstein/Barshop Institute/UTHSCSA

Credit: Buffenstein/Barshop Institute/UTHSCSA

And, in the spirit of full disclosure, I’m not actually afraid of the Walloons. I’m sure they are perfectly nice people, but I needed a W and the only other phobia was Wiccaphobia, the fear of witches and witchcraft. I’m not afraid of witches, as I think I might be one.

Triskaidekaphobia

Triskaidekaphobia

Unbelievably for someone with this many phobias, I’m not the least bit superstitious. I walk under ladders, step on cracks, cross paths with black cats and never blink and eye.  But, the number 13 always causes a little shiver to run down my spine.

And now, what have I gone and done?  Bought a 13-year-old house in the year 2013 with the number 13 in its street address and in its zip code.  This whole messy part of my life started when we rented Apartment #1301 after leaving our last house of, what? That’s right. 13 years.

I’m told (by people who know such things) that thirteen is actually a powerful number and that this house is going to be lucky for me.

I’m sure it was luck when the landscape guy’s shovel hit the unmarked buried telephone line.

What good fortune it was, to have the wrong colored tile installed in the bottom five rows of the backsplash.

Lady Luck really must have enjoyed that trick, because when the wall of tile was torn down and reinstalled, I had five rows of wrong colored tile at the top.

And, how lucky we were when the stump grinder hit the sprinkler system – seven times.

Lucky when the cook top installer split the gas line and filled our floor joists with explosive fumes.

I was charmed when the morning of our move-in, we discovered that after buffing, the floor stain had been removed from the edge of every board creating an interesting striped effect.

Or, favored when the special order pendant lights arrived with three different finishes.

And it had to be a stroke of good fortune that the countertop was cut in such a way that we would not have to pay the expense of installing an exhaust fan.

If anyone knows a way to remove this jinx from my life, I’d love to hear what I could do, before the number of mishaps reaches 13.

Evolution of The Writer/Mayor of Crazie Town

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1994

1994

I discovered that our movers put three boxes marked “Teresa’s Journals” in my office, instead of the storage room, which is where I’ve kept them for the past twenty years. I opened the first box.

This lovely image assaulted me.

I couldn’t imagine what it was doing in my journal box, and turned back the cover to unearth my first journal entry ever.

I remember taking a class on journaling. The teacher recommended that when you didn’t know what you should write, write the words, “and then…” and see what happened.

JOURNAL ENTRY:  March 5, 1994

I was born On November 24, in Wichita, Kansas and I was a third child
And then, I became an older sister to five brothers
And then, I became a wife
And then, I lost my brother
And then, I gave birth to twin girls
And then, they died
And then, I closed off a place in my heart
And then, I was a mom to a baby boy
And then, I was divorced
And then, I started my life
And then, I lost my way and became what needed to be done
And then, I had a hysterectomy and lost my femininity
And then, I learned I could not control my future, which scared me
And now, I am searching for me. What I want, what I need, balanced with what I should and what I could

2001

2001

JOURNAL ENTRY:  April 7, 2001

I always love starting a new journal, although it is also a bit intimidating.  As if this time I will get it right…whatever right is.

I vow to write neatly and to put important thoughts down on paper, but that is not what my journal is for.  I need to pour out my life, good, bad or boring and journaling has been the way for me to do that best.

Eww! Just picked off three ticks from being at the farm.  Yuck!

2013

2013

JOURNAL ENTRY:  June 19, 2013

I’m breaking so many Teresa rules.  Writing a journal entry in my Writing Notebook is one of them.  It’s sad to say how freaky I can be about this.  My writing should be orderly and confined to the proper paper.

Anyway, I am sitting in a beam of sunlight, on a bench in Central Park.

The Normal:  Tiny brown sparrows bathing in a dish held skyward by a bronze girl.

The Abnormal: A well-dressed elderly man walking by holding two leashes – at the end of which are a pair of dalmatian speckled rabbits.

An ancient couple sits on the next bench and he is desperately trying to explain Twitter to her.  She replies, “Yes, I see” at the end of each of his sentences, but clearly, she does not.

A purple flowering shrub, the spikes vibrating with black and yellow bees, frantically trying to grab the nectar before their brother does.

I want to be home – in a real home – sitting in my yard. It will be weeks before that happens and I hate to wish my life away.

Still resisting the urge to sit down and write my blog. It weighs on me, the guilt of not finishing what I started. But, evidently, not enough to move me to action. My brain is everywhere and nowhere all at once.  Is the house we bought the right one?  Is John looking ill? Are the kids okay? How will I ever meet up with Craig in Brooklyn for lunch? What should I do next?

I know, I’ll go back to my brother’s apartment and take a nap.