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<- Wednesday, May. 31, 2006 | 12:09 a.m. ->





I hated "Are You Afraid of the Dark?"

It was a real stretch to remember the last time I updated this. That's probably because said update was May 1. I win at updating.

If I let updating pile up on me like this there's too much to say and no real way to say it. I do not want to skimp on my week-at-the-beach-with-friends entry, because said week-at-the-beach-with-friends was very nice. The week involved lots of defiantly running into the freezing cold ocean, sunning ourselves on the sand, card games, and listening to boys play guitar. I found the first conch shell of my shell-finding career and went on a number of satisfying walks.

That is a terrible summary, but I have a feeling it's all I've got in me.

I don't want to skimp on writing about my cousin Molly's Bat Mitzvah but all I can say is that I enjoyed myself. I want to see my extended family more. My Grandmother's cousins are the most hilarious people to ever walk the planet.

The other night I made fun of a friend for being afraid of the dark. This is completely unfair as I, too, am afraid of the dark. Really petrified, in fact. But, I'm only afraid of the dark alone, and only sometimes. Sometimes I love the dark. I went for a walk tonight and saw the first lightning bug of summer. I love the transformed silence of a sleepy street at three in the morning. One night, at the beach I was tempted to run down to the water after everyone went to bed. I am intoxicated by the change of landscape - the brilliant moon, the ability to be seemingly utterly alone without the implication of loneliness. I didn't make it down to the water however - not because it is dangerous to go alone into the ocean at night, but because I suddenly couldn't get the image of the killer from Club Dread out of my head. I fucking faux-horror movie petrified me to the point that I could hear my own blood rushing in my ears louder than the ocean. I sprinted back indoors.

I was not raised in a culture-of-fear-esque manner. I hate it when my irrational fears get me down - they're the only fears which ever stop me. My real fears? I can overcome those. I can suck it up and do whatever needs to be done in the face of claustrophobia or bugs-which-I-hate or fear-of-falling situations. But those fucking horror movie scenes get me every time.

I went for a walk tonight and when I returned home my heart was racing horror-movie fast. It was all I could do not to sprint in the door. I'm not afraid of rapists or being mugged - whatever will be, will be. I am afraid of axe-murderers. Seeing a Freddie Kruger movie-box was one of the worst decisions of my life - he will never again not be in my brain.

I am afraid of mummies. I have been horribly afraid of mummies for as long as I can remember. Thinking of mummies and seeing pictures of mummies conjures an actual horrible taste in my mouth - I secrete something when thinking of mummies. It's a shame because ancient Egypt is so interesting and appealing until I remember those damn mummies. Seriously, who is actually afraid of mummies?! This girl.

I want to call up the afraid-of-the-dark friend and compare neuroses. I wonder how many neurotic-points viscerally reacting when seeing mummies gets a person.

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