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I can only recall one time in my life in which I’ve experienced truly paralyzing, spine-tingling fear - the kind that breaches the emotional realm and becomes physical*.

In high school I dated a Mormon boy. He was a nice boy, very intelligent, and we got along very well because we had a similar sense of humor and I enjoyed his stories and intellectual discussion.

He was also very religiously devout. One day he brought me a copy of The Book of Mormon and asked that I read it. There’s a claim that those who read the book will know its truth because they will feel a burning in the chest. At least, I think that’s how it goes - it’s been several years.

Though rather underdeveloped in practice, I have always had a strong interest in learning about other religions, so I was interested to read the book. That night, I went to bed early so I could devote some time to it, and started at the beginning.

I got through a few chapters and suddenly became acutely aware of the perception that I was no longer alone in my room. I glanced up at the doorway. There was nobody there.

Then something brought my gaze to the papazan chair in the corner of my room. And there I saw them. There were two. Two, quite distinct and separate…

Beings. I don’t know how to describe them. I could see them. But couldn’t. It was like looking at two voids in space. Two … living … shadowy … voids. One sat in the chair, and the other seemed to perch on the side of it. They sat there and looked at me with eyes that I couldn’t see.

Fear. Bone-chilling terror like I have never experienced before or since shot straight through my body.

My arms and muscles became completely incapable of responding to any command from my brain. I was rendered physically unable to move, completely frozen, able to do nothing but stare at my supernatural visitors.

The beings didn’t move and didn’t show any physical signs of aggression. It was though they were simply there to observe me, to be present.

And yet they were ominous in a way I can only describe as evil. Not “evil” in the sense that our Commander in Chief defines terrorists, which is a weak descriptor of deed or thought.

Evil in substance, something that is menacing in its very existence, a physical incarnation of the unimaginable, like a black hole.

I sat there for what seemed like hours, though I know it was only minutes - bound captive in my frozen state.

Eventually, I let out a prayer. It was nothing more than a whisper for deliverance, a simple, shaky invocation of something my mother taught me.

And they left.

I sat there in solitude, staring at the utter emptiness of my room, questioning my own sanity. Would they return? Did I really see them? What did they want?

Eventually, I laid the book down, turned off the light and went to sleep.

I told the boy what had happened. He quickly consulted his elder and reported back to me the determination that because I was opening a book of Truth, demons had been sent to me to frighten me away from it and prevent its revelation to me.

I kept the book. That was the last time I read from it though.

*There is a train of thought that brought me to this, which I will deal with in a later (most likely private) post.

When I was 9 & 10 I kept a journal. It had four parts: Feelings, Spy Info, Anything and Poetry.

Feelings was the journal section of it. Spy Info was for really important stuff like disciphering secret codes and recording invaluable details about the people around me. I had just read “Harriet the Spy” in school. Anything was…nothing. One page had the first draft of a love song on it (a LOVE song…I should mention here that I didn’t have my first “boyfriend” until my senior year of highschool - gah). And the Poetry section was pretty self explanatory.

Anyway, I’m really glad to have that old, beat-up spiral notebook now because reading through the journal entries remind s me of what a huge deal everything is when you’re a kid. Drama, Drama, Drama. It’s hard to be a kid. Particularly a girl, I think.

My best friend, C, spent last night with me and she’s still here. But we got in another argument. I think I have the right of it all.

It’s not fair the way she picks on me and throws around my [stuffed] animals just because I believe they’re real. I don’t think she’s my bestest friend anymore.

She’s also mean to my hampster just because I correct her by saying she’s a girl. Then C throws in an “it doesn’t matter,” which is a lie as far as I’m concerned.

This is why I like being alone better than having a friend over or going over to anyone’s house.

Unless it’s Kerri, I guess.

One of the things I really appreciate about adulthood is the lack of drama. I know there are still those out there who thrive on conflict, but in general it’s pretty easy to avoid them. I have surrounded myself with low-maintenance friends and people who appreciate me, and I really feel now that I have that “handle” on life that I never felt I had as a child. Maybe that’s just security. Confidence. The knowledge that you can’t please everybody and that doesn’t affect who you are. That life is so much BIGGER than the little issues people fight about.

Oh, I guess I should mention that though I rarely see C anymore, she and I are still good friends. We’ve both done a lot of growing up

dooce: Death to Ed

I was reading the above entry (yes, I’m behind again in my blog reading) and the part where she asked her doctor if she could keep the removed cancer spot reminded me about the time we had our dog neutered.

One of his nuts was genetically deformed and hadn’t dropped completely, so they had to go in and surgically remove it, which created a slightly more complicated procedure than your average neuter. He had to wear a cone to keep him from licking the wound and it got all inflamed and red and was really bothering him.

I mean red to the point that, while home alone with him that night, I actually thought I was seeing blood puddle below his skin and became convinced that he was bleeding internally (ignore the part where I thought the blood would be red under the skin instead of blue…my dog’s life was in danger, I wasn’t thinking clearly). So I (gently) threw him in the car and rushed him to the nearest Pet Emergency Clinic where the on-duty vet laughed at me with his European accent and informed me that I was too stupid to own a dog, that there was nothing wrong with this perfectly normal sewn-up gash in my child’s dog’s rear. He then charged me $75 for the service and sent me home poor and humiliated. I didn’t tell J about that night (and I tell J EVERYTHING), and I didn’t intend to, until he was going through some papers on the desk and wanted to know why we had a receipt for $75 at the Emergency Vet Care Clinic.

But my humiliation really wasn’t the point of this story when I embarked on it. I hate getting distracted like that - why does it always end up with my discussing something embarassing?

Probably because I have a lot of embarassing moments. When I was in 6th grade, I came up with a coping mechanism for all those times I suffered the complete mortification of watching my entire life melt before my eyes. It seems I was habitually finding myself in the situation of having just done something incredibly dumb that would follow me the rest of my life and ensure that I would be home alone watching Saved by the Bell re-runs on Prom night.

When I found the entire world flogging me with the STARE in the aftermath of one of those moments, I would mentally spell “Embarassing” three times and by the time I got through the third spelling, the moment had usually passed enough that I could pull myself up off the ground and continue on my way, stopping every once in a while to pick up the pieces of my shattered self esteem.

About a year later, I came to the realization that I had actually been misspelling the word.

But I’m getting distracted again.

So when we went to pick up our poor, wounded, decapacitated puppy from the clinic after his surgery, they explained the procedure and why he had stitches and a cone and what we needed to do to care for him.

Then they held up his testacle in a plastic bag and asked us if we wanted to keep it.

And we’re like, are you NUTS? (Ba-dum-ching!)

Thank you, thank you very much. I’ll be here all week.

One of my methods of dealing with problems has always been the “ignore it and it will go away” theory.

If I don’t like what the bathroom scale says, I stay off it for a few days. If the kitchen is messy, I spend my time elsewhere so I don’t have to look at it. If I have a mosquito bite, I pretend it’s not there.

Ok, that was a lie. I will scratch a mosquito bite until I have gouged it from my flesh and left a scabby crater in its place. I hate those blood-sucking little bastards.

But most of the time I am able to ignore the various discomforts of life.

When I was in middle school, there was a girl who had been an annoyance to me for several years. She was “clingy” and I have always despised “clingy.” She seemed to be under the impression that we were great friends when I had no interest in her at all.

So I put my theory to test and ignored her. Completely. She would follow me down the hall asking me questions and I refused to look at her. I ignored the notes tossed to me from accross the room, the messages passed through other friends, and the taps on the shoulder when she happened to be behind me in class.

But she was persistent. And obviously didn’t get my well-established and carefully-constructed hint. After a good week of ignoring, she finally cornered me in the hall with a “what’s going on?”

Um…I don’t do confrontation, so I promptly melted into my shoes and died. But not before blurting out something stupid like “you’re-annoying-and-I-don’t-want-to-be-your-friend-bye” and running off to another class.

So much for my anticonfrontational tactics.

That said, the theory remains to be a pretty good mantra for me in most situations because truthfully, I have such a bad memory that if I ignore a problem it usually DOES go away, if only because I’ve completely forgotten it existed. If I confront someone about it though, the confrontation is burned into my memory, leaving a scar that is much more difficult to get over than a mosquito bite. Unfortunately, I’m not a very forgiving person.

However, I am now faced with a delimma that I fear cannot be ignored without making the problem MUCH. MUCH. WORSE:

Please be advised that your case has been set for Court on the below referenced date. A copy of the Court’s notice has been enclosed herein. WARNING: YOU MUST APPEAR ON TIME FOR YOUR COURT DATE. IF YOU FAIL TO APPEAR THE COURT WILL ISSUE A WARRANT FOR YOUR ARREST. IF YOU FAIL TO APPEAR, I MAY AT MY SOLE DISCRETION ENTER A PLEA OF GUILTY OR NO CONTEST FOR YOU ON ALL CHARGES. A PLEA OF GUILTY OR NO CONTST COULD CAUSE YOUR DRIVER’S LICESNSE TO BE SUSPENDED. A WARRANT FOR OUR ARREST WILL ALSO BE ISSUED IF YOU FAILY TO PAY AND/OR TIMELY PAY THE APPLICABLE FINES ON YOUR CASE.

Wow. They don’t mince words, do they. Most of the reason I hired a lawyer to represent me was so I wouldn’t have to show up at court. I’ve never been to court before and truthfully, it kinda intimidates me. And while in my own mind I have a solid case (I didn’t do it, I swear) there’s a growing doubt about the outcome of this little trial, made worse by the fact that the court is insisting I be there anyway.

Ugh.