Before we get into this issue, a note: In a previous issue, I mentioned buying a carrot hot sauce. I’m pleased to report that it’s VERY good and will become a staple for me. I recently used it on braised beef tacos and it was incredible.
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For a few days every month, I wake up panicked in the middle of the night. Every time, it’s from PMS anxiety that focuses on the general theme of uncertainty that has underscored my entire life. I don’t have the constant looming dread that everyone talks about. I don’t doomscroll or engage in destructive behaviors. I don’t overspend or procrastinate or self-loathe. This isn’t a brag, I just have a delusional level of self-confidence that renders those kinds of things completely unfathomable. There’s no reason for me to have that kind of faith in myself. It wasn’t instilled in me or encouraged, I somehow got this way based purely on some kind of internal drive that refuses to pump the fucking brakes. I am beaten down on what seems to be a quarterly basis, but I think I’m just stupid enough to not put together the puzzle pieces that would result in thinking negatively about myself. But there’s still that uncertainty that plagues me for a few days.
Then I have a little weed and none of that shit is real. Let’s be fucking serious. Nobody knows what the fuck is going on. I can think about the uncertainty and realize that I’ve never had a 10-, 5-, or even 1-year plan. Hell, even six months would be a struggle. I’ve somehow made it this far with absolutely zero goals in mind other than not dropping dead. So many long-term goals hinge on the idea that I have to “work at” something every day in pursuit of some accolade or higher position in life. No disrespect to anyone who’s “on a path” or whatever. Good for you, but I’m not doing that shit. I’m here for the ride, baby. The destination is ultimately the same for us all. I don’t believe in milestones. Why would I put that kind of pressure on myself? I really believe I’ve done enough.
I’m not even afraid of the uncertainty — we all have it, and I’m fine to live with it, even if it disrupts my sleep when I’m PMSing. But fear is different. My biggest fears are some really goofy shit — always present in their many forms. Fear keeps me on my toes. I’ve written an entire issue about The Mothman, who I will always be afraid of, but in the spirit of community, I’m going to share some more things I’m afraid of.
David Spade. That motherfucker creeps me out. There’s something menacing about his grin; like he’s committed a heinous crime before and will do it again. Even though I love watching sitcoms, I fear that viewing even a minute of Just Shoot Me will cause me to have a panic attack so severe that I die on the spot. He has the same energy as Eric Andre, who I am also afraid of. Let’s make this one a twofer.
Looking at a photograph and seeing something creepy in the background. This is some classic horror movie shit. There is NOTHING scarier to me than deviating my eyes from the foreground of a picture to notice something dark sided happening beyond the typical viewpoint. It’s even worse when someone else points it out, saying “What’s that back there?” Dude, fuck you! I’m not looking.
American cheese. It’s nasty, and I don’t believe it should be called cheese. Just the thought of those off-yellow squares of “food” wrapped in plastic makes me gag. I jump back when I see it in person. This is something I will never overcome.
Being contacted by someone from my past that I don’t remember. The idea of someone having memories of me that I don’t share really sets me on edge. It prickles the hairs on my neck to think I was having an experience that I can’t really bear witness to. This is one of the reasons I don’t drink anymore. There’s a very specific horror in hearing someone narrate what I did when I was blackout drunk. The only way to make sure it never happened again was to stop drinking altogether. This line of thinking also ties into why I never want to be hypnotized.
Owls. I feel like this is self-explanatory if you’ve looked at an owl for long enough. One time I was really high and looked at the picture of Ludacris holding an owl for too long. That was enough to cement the fear.
Eating from communal food bowls. My mom once told me a story about being at a cookout with my dad, where a girl was in the corner, simultaneously scratching her crotch and feeding her rabbit from the bowl of three bean salad. She tried to tell my dad with her eyes, attempting to give clues that he should under no circumstances eat the three bean salad. Unfortunately, he didn’t understand her clandestine warning. Nothing happened to him after eating the rabbit crotch salad, but I think this story serves as a lesson for us all.
Wild animals escaping from the zoo. I honestly think that if they tried hard enough to work together, the animals really could organize a large-scale escape across multiple states. We should be afraid of this happening. They will only remain caged for so long. That is a promise.
Dying mid-sentence. I think we’ll all have unfinished business whenever we die. It’s hard not to, even if we’re just talking about not getting to those final pages of whatever book we’re reading. But the thought of being mid-sentence, choking on a nut or clutching my heart and passing away, is too much to bear. Please God, if you’re listening, let me finish my sentence.
Being caught in a lie. This is why I don’t bother lying. Sure, I’ve told the occasional white lie to an Uber driver just to pass the conversation, but there is no way in HELL I’m lying to someone I actually know. The fear of being caught is too great. Once you start lying, you kinda have to just keep doing it, digging the hole forever. Spinning a yarn, if you will. I can’t keep up. My nerves are too bad, and lying just feels like a task. And who is it all for? No.
The last fear on this list is another twofer, both sound-based. I am deeply afraid of the Andy Griffith theme song. There’s something about the lighthearted whistling that has scared me since I was a child. I cannot feel good about it. Also for your consideration: wind chimes. Wind chimes, like the Andy Griffith theme song, are an attempt at whimsy. I’m not falling for it. Wind chimes are ominous in nature, and nothing positive can happen to me after hearing them.
I hope this helps you feel better about anything you may be afraid of. We’re in this together. If any of you harass me about these fears, I will press charges. Thank you for your time.
My mom always warned me about eating at potlucks etc but it's really been hit home watching people cook on tiktok and seeing how many kitchens are NOT CLEAN.
it’s crazy how many of these i relate to