I wanted to thank everyone who weighed in on Friday’s post. So many good comments (and reminders)! Here is what I got out of it:
I’ve always been a bit of a sloppy juggler . . . rushing to catch the ball that’s about the shatter against the floor (oh yeah, the balls are glass, I’m just sure of it).
Anyway, you get the idea. So many balls, so hard to keep them all in the air.
What are your secrets for not dropping the ball? And seriously here . . .
It was late. The kids were asleep. My husband had gone to bed. I was hard at work finishing my blogs for the week. Then I saw it. A quarter-sized spider not three feet away.
I screamed. I mean SCREAMED! The spider froze, watching me with its beady little eyes. I didn’t dare look away for fear it would disappear into my house. I called my husband, trying not to wake the kids. He’s a light sleeper, I thought. He’ll come.
I called again, cursing the tremor in my voice that made me sound like such a wuss. Again, and again. Still no knight in shining armor to rescue me!
The spider was getting antsy. I started to creep away. I realized I needed to kill the blasted thing or it would escape and haunt my dreams . . . and my waking life.
I grabbed the empty garbage can and stepped closer. The spider knew.
Zoom! It sped away like nothing. Then I really started screaming (I’m ashamed now to admit it, but I didn’t care who I woke . . . the kids, the neighbors, the dead). I had completely lost it! And of course the thing ran for the pile of boxes in the corner (we’re getting ready to move).
I was still screaming for my husband when he came sauntering out of the room. “What is it honey?”
Boy I laid into him. But I was in hysterics by then. Fortunately he could tell. He didn’t make any sudden movements, and he spoke in a nice soothing voice. I shivered in the corner while he painstakingly went through every box till he killed it. Yeah, it was a Brown Recluse. *shivers again*
So now I don’t know which I should feel worse about: that my mental state is so fragile I lost it at the sight of a mere spider . . . or that my husband never came running despite my bloody murder screams.
What do you think? And please tell me I’m not the only one to have such irrational fears!
And again, don’t forget to enter my CONTEST here! Ends tomorrow at midnight EDT.
I have this thing about Chinese. When I love it, I LOVE it. And when I don’t, buy yourself some earplugs, because I am not afraid to express my opinion. Needless to say, I’m always a little reticent to try new places. More often than not, I’m disappointed. So instead of eating Chinese, I dream of the good stuff from where I grew up.
The thing is, my husband doesn’t have my reservations. To him, it’s all more or less the same. He’s happy with whatever, he’d just like something.
So, tonight, I gave in. Called a few friends, got a few recommendations. And gross. Blah. Blah. Blah.Yicky. Picky. Snort.
“I’m sorry I even suggested it,” my husband said.
And then the epiphany came. From my own mouth even: “Well, you never know if you don’t try.”
I know, you’re all probably thinking, ‘Well duh!’
I wonder how many things I’ve not tried because I didn’t want to be disappointed. Learning a new skill. Sending off the next query. Taking risks with my characters. Bidding on that full manuscript critique over at Do The Write Thing. Whatever.
How about you? Is fear of disappointment holding you back?