We All Float Down Here...
I could use being snowed in as the perfect opportunity to do some “serious writing” the way Nora Roberts did on that fateful winter’s day when she first put pen to paper in an effort to salvage her sanity and then went on to write an entire library shelf worth of books. But… I have a somewhat irrational fear that it will involve violence with roque mallets, a smashed door, and ultimately end with my icy death in the middle of a hedge maze.
I’m also pretty sure that I just mixed details from the movie and the book, but both were so awesome that I can’t seem to bring myself to care.
This brings me to a point, not THE point, but a point all the same… Literacy… can sometimes be overrated.
Yes, I just went there.
Without books my life would be a sad and meaningless cycle of sleeping, eating, smoking, mindless internet games and hours of mind numbingly stupid television shows.
Except without being literate it would all be a big jumbled mess of frustration because I couldn’t type in web addresses, read the names of TV shows, or figure out how to work the remote.
Ok, that was so not a point, but it’s there now and I’m sorry you had to go through that with me, but it’s done now.
The literacy thing… Back to it.
Without literacy, my life would be nowhere near as enriched as it has been but I would also not have the veritable treasure trove of phobias I currently possess.
Number A: Bath tubs. Now, one could get picky and throw out that Psycho could have given me an irrational fear of bathing devices, but Psycho had very little to do with my current phobia. Stephen King’s “The Shining” has EVERYTHING to do with it though. Well, dammit, the movie did play a factor in it too, but only so much as to give my mind a more startlingly real picture of the horror that I faced while reading the book. Jack Torrance, pre-bat shit crazy stage, decides to check out “the room that must not be entered” because little Danny, pre-psychic talking finger stage, has shown up with some colorful bruises around his fragile little neck and says that the lady in the bath tub did it. The dead lady in the bath tub to be exact, so, still more or less sane Jack enters this room and goes into the bathroom and lo and behold, thar be an arm hanging over the rim of the tub! He pulls back the curtain and Holy Polaris, Batman! There’s a hot naked chick there! Hot naked, but totally alive chick comes sauntering out of the bathtub and tries to seduce poor Jack. She’s slipping him a little tongue and I guess her breast-eses must have felt a leetle strange because he pulls back and… Holy Necrophilia, Batman! Yous be sexually assaulting a zombie slut… who then tries to kill him. This may have had something to do with the final steps into Bat Shit Crazy Jack, but one can never be sure of how they’ll react to making out with a dead chick.
So now, every time I go into the bathroom, any bathroom with a shower, I have to bat at the curtain to make sure there isn’t a dead lady in it who will try to Katy Perry me, turn dead-er, and then try to murder my ass.
Number B: Bath tubs part deux. This next one is actually less bath tub and more drain related. It’s not even limited to shower drains either. Sink drains, floor drains, and especially storm drains. Bitches can’t even sail their paper boats down the flood water for fear of a clown with balloons ripping their arm off and possibly eating you while you’re still alive. Now, “It” gave most people a pretty rational fear of clowns, but for me… it was Pennywise’s preferred mode of transportation/child abduction that got me. I have to admit that I watched the movie when I was a toddler and this may or may not have had an unhealthy influence on my still forming psyche, but still. I tried to read the book as a teenager but had to stop at page 75, after It is seen walking through the river eating the arm pit of a gay man, and hide it until my return trip to the library. Last year I revisited that fear and I finished it (kind of). For Christ’s sake, the book is 1078 pages long, involves a gang bang with 12 year olds, kids being turned into Snack Packs, and around 700 pages of bad writing. You can’t really expect me to read every single word of it. So, this pretty much goes in the “Fears brought on by movies” category, but the book was a lot worse and I didn’t have to look at Richard Thomas’ face the whole time, so I ignore that and throw this into my “Irrational phobias brought on by reading” category anyways.
I have many, MANY, other literature related phobias which I may or may not get into at a later date, but I can safely say that Stephen King is to blame for roughly 85-95% of them. You crazy bastard, I can’t even take a shower or go to the bathroom without worrying that something is going to try to lure me away with the promise of floating down there or that some woman is going to try to turn me into a dead necrophiliac lesbian.