warning: very mild scariness. make sure you don't have any super-sensitive little kids looking over your shoulder. (sorry, sis!)
I have something to admit.
I have a phobia.
It's not arachnophobia (fear of spiders). It's not barophobia (fear of gravity). It's not even xanthophobia (fear of the color yellow...?!)
Nope, I'm scared of breaking my right arm and not being able to draw/write/type/etc for an entire month or two until it heals.
I conciously use my left hand when I have to put my hand into something mildly creepy, like when I have to clean out the drain in the dishwater. Because, you know, there might be monsters in there.
I even bought a $30 pair of wristguards to wear while unicycling. Just in case.
(I just need to teach myself to be ambidextrous. Then this wouldn't be an issue.)
Last night I had a nightmare.
(I know it was a nightmare because it was black and white and not colorful.)
It went like this:
Yesterday my brother and I went biking on the mountain trails by our house. My brother is a speedy daredevil; I'm not. Clankey clankety clankey clunk, hit a stump, clankety bang, hit a rock, clankety ooomph! yell and make my brother wait for me to get back on the bike.
(It was a lot of exhilarating fun in real life, but in dream life the speedy mountain biking was downright scary.)
Then this happened:
