Drabble 66 – Solivagant

I don’t mind being alone. I actually like it quite a bit–not all the time, obviously, but going for a long bike ride or walk by myself can be refreshing. I’m abnormally busy because I give myself too many things for one mere human to accomplish, but forcing myself out of the house with nothing to do but bike or walk s one of the few times I ever just let my brain do its thing without trying to force it into doing something else.

When I was a kid, I’d spend most of my wandering time imagining I was somewhere else. Sometimes the places I imagined were versions of my favorite books. On one memorable occasion, I thought of a very detailed scheme in which I’d end up in one of the most horrifying stories from Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. Being alone has its merits, though not ones I want to experience all the time.

I’m going to be at PAX next week, where I will most certainly not be alone. I plan on writing a convention diary for Women Write About Comics, but I’m probably not  (definitely not) going to write a drabble. Even I have my limits.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

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Drabble 65 – Pantophobia

I have already talked, at length, about my numerous fears. Fear is a pretty big thing. It’s hard to put a finger on some of the things I’m afraid of, and even harder to explain why I’m afraid of them. Why have eyes given me the creeps since I was a tender young thing watching Milo and Otis? I couldn’t tell you, only that seeing eyes in the dark is right up there with moths and failure in my top fears. And why do I fear failure so much? I mean, I could probably hazard a few dozen guesses, but we’re getting into far more personal territory than what I’m willing to share on a blog.

Fear is interesting. It’s telling. There’s a lot to unpack from each individual fear, ranging from my dislike for moths to my inability to throw up. There’s information contained in each fear, like footnotes on footnotes, leading down to something deeper and scarier still.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

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Drabble 64 – Rubatosis

Rubatosis

I’m lucky in a lot of ways, but one of the ones I think of most often is that, despite my lack of self-confidence and constant second-guessing of myself, my body has never really been part of that. I was a teenager once; I worried about how I looked, pursing my lips in mirrors and wondering if anybody would ever want to kiss them, but somewhere along the line I decided I was ugly and that was that, there was nothing to be done, and I would just have to carry on in spite of that.

A lot of my self-perception is wrapped up in feeling ownership over my own body. I don’t worry so much about whether I’m attractive to others anymore; I’m more concerned with whether I’m attractive to myself. I care more about how short hair feels, about how lipstick feels, about how a dress or heels or jeans or whatever else I care to cover my body in feels. Because I primarily work from home, I often see myself without makeup, all the little flaws in my skin, the red spot at the end of my nose, the prickly heat currently turning my fingers into an embarrassing bumpy mess.

That’s not to say I’m not ever self-conscious. I’m constantly self-conscious. But I’m making peace with my flaws little by little, embracing that red spot, my hobbit feet, my cowlicks.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

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Drabble 63 – Adust

I used to watch every one of those strange phenomena shows. I was transfixed, even though I was also often terrified–as much as I loved reading about the supernatural, it scared me to think that it might be real.

Spontaneous combustion is one of the things we don’t worry about all that much anymore. Maybe it’s because we’ve largely moved past thinking of the body as being comprised of imbalanced humours, or maybe because we have bigger bodily threats to worry about. Reports of the phenomenon still happen, but they’re significantly rarer than they used to be.

It’s still an interesting topic, though. I wrote a paper once on the human body as a computer in need of a heat sink, with Mr. Krook’s combustion in Dickens’ Bleak House representing the natural conclusion of storing too much with nowhere for the energy to go. It sometimes feels that way, doesn’t it, like everything inside you is struggling to get out?

Anyway, here’s a drabble.

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