Chartasecophobia

This painting is entitled "El sueno de la razon produce monustros" (The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters) (1799) by the Romantic artist Fransisco de Goya. I find this to an appropriate springboard to share with you something that most people would never guess. Many of you are probably guessing just what the title of this post means. Admittedly I have taken a little freedom and overextended both my limited vocabulary and even more limited grasp of Latin to produce the name of a new phobia, one from which I suffer and yet have never found a clinical description of (and believe me, I've tried).

I speak of the fear- nay, the overwhelming terror- of... PAPER CUTS. Yes this gruesome malady has ran rampant through the ages (well at least through my ages), and plagued untold numbers of individuals (counting me I know of at least one). This woeful malady has been ignored for far to long, and I for one will stand for this blatant disregard no longer! Even Goya himself must have suffered from this same affliction- how do I know? Look at the paper strewn desk and the feeling of utter despair written on the visage of the lone figure huddled over them.

Seriously though, this painting describes my (admittedly bizarre) disorder to a T. Not because of the figure itself, but because of the intent and description of its portrayal. I know that fearing a (shudder) paper cut is irrational. Upon the rare occasion when I do actually get a paper cut I quickly treat it however is needed and then forget the wound. Whenever TAD pretends that a Post-It is a washcloth and tries to wash my face with it, or uses a piece of loose-leaf as a tickle tool I am completely paralyzed by a sense of utter despair and dread. I understand this. That is why I say it is a phobia and not a dislike or loathing, it doesn't make sense- I know, but that comprehension does not change the fact that I am terrified by them!!!


So as I pondered and pontificated all this I kept wondering: "What strange things do other people fear, what irrational emotion is awakened by an admittedly innocuous and mundane item or circumstance?" So now here is your chance. Go ahead and share to your hearts content, if you can overcome even the mere thought of your own anxiety. Not that you will be miraculously healed by this simple sharing, but it might make you feel better that there is someone out there with an even more bizarre dread than your own.

Oh yeah, 10 bonus points to anyone with a weirder fear than mine.

Spark

Everyone in this life has a flame, a fire that burns and radiates into the world. Some let their flame burst into a violent firestorm that burns and consumes and leaves vast proof of passing- and disappear quickly. Others nurse their flame and try to hide it away from others, while some march forth sharing their flame with any they find. Some flames march by proudly and bright, garish in their intensity, but never deigning to linger. Some flames flare briefly then are suffocated and reduced to mere embers, struggling to glow when all reason for illumination and blaze has already been stifled and all but extinguished.

One way or another every flame seeks to grow, seeks to expand and envelope the world around it. Each flame begins humbly and progresses to whatever potential that diligence, ambition, and sense of purpose can achieve. But not every flame can grow. Some are given a brief moment, just a spark, to shine briefly and furiously before the intensity is lost and fades away. Perhaps, however, it is these sparks that shine most brightly. This small flicker of luminescence provides the greatest contrast to all the flames that pass around us. And for that reason they linger in our minds and hearts and souls.

7 Random Facts (Well 6 Facts and 1 Fiction)

Alright, s'mee this is a first for me, but being such a lady's man I had to follow through on this one. Without further ado, here we go:

1. I know how it feels to be bitten by this mammal.
(P.S.: It really really hurts.)

2. I was involved in a landscaping accident when I was about 6 that resulted in a pipe being thrown through my cheek on the left side of my face.

3. I have, to my knowledge, broken three bones in my body.

4. In high school I was in a musical, during our third night of performance I got food poisoning on stage but was able to make it into the wings before throwing up (unfortunately I hit 2 or 3 of the main characters waiting for their cues).

5. When I was 16 I found myself in a lightning storm on horseback (the horse didn't think it was as neat as I did).

6. I wrote a poem that was published in a poetry anthology (I was 14 at the time).

7. I have lived in 6 states IN 2 countries.

Alright, think you can spot the real from the fake. Post it in Comments and try your luck.



Ok, it's been a few days since anyone has hazard a guess so I suppose it is time to end the suspense. S'mee was on the right track early on, but then lost it. I have, to my knowledge, broken Zero bones in my body. There have been quite a few close calls and I'm almost certain that the horse from #5 cracked a few ribs, but amazingly I have never had an "official" broken bone.

"A man is what he thinks about all day long." -Ralph Waldo Emerson

Well, it's the first of the month and I figured that it was a good time to put up a new post. The title comes from my 'Quote of the Day' link up top, really- I just copied and pasted it into the title bar! I think that it is a good point though, obviously or I wouldn't have used it. It is just a simple truth that we overlook to much. I am working in the Clyde Building on campus at the Y. It is the Engineering building and I really enjoy looking at some of the things they have there- posters chronicling their current studies, displays celebrating past achievements, flyer's advertising career opportunities with everyone from R&D firms to the CIA (We're working on projects so advanced we can't even show you- not yet anyways) and the Navy's nuclear vessels.

Sometimes as I walk into a room with writing all over the Chalk- or Dry Erase- Board, I stop before I start erasing and try to make some sense out of what the (future) engineers have written. Mathematical equations, small notes using words that shouldn't exist, and random two and three dimensional drawings that show way to much detail for something that was used for maybe half an hour tops. Frankly I can barely recognize it as a form of communication. I feel like an archaeologist trying to make himself understand the cave paintings on a rock face from thousands of years ago. A gulf of purpose and understanding that defies anything beyond a superficial impression and intuitive guess.

Then I walk down a certain hallway, going in the right direction, and I see a series of pictures. Bridges. All different types from all over the world. Moving in time from deep in the past to new whimsical styles that effortlessly span absurd distances. I consider the design of each in turn rationalizing each into categories based on the people who built them and the influences shown in the choice of materials and form of each. And then I come to the end of the display. A contest on building the strongest bridge with only a few pieces of scrap metal and ingenuity. For a brief instant my mind opens up, I look over my shoulder and see the bridges in a new light. They are transformed into feats of human endeavour that highlight the stability and function of each. They loom out as a mass of figures, numbers, and careful, deliberate, painstaking calculations. What brash and daring individual dared to cross the raging waters with such temerity?

Then it's gone and I'm left looking over my shoulder at a bridge. Something is different though. I walk down the hallway and turn the corner, but an image floats in front of me.