Phobias

I've been experiencing a lot of anxiety lately, and I think I want to commemorate that by describing a couple more of my phobias. I don't think these phobias have cool names like masklophobia (which, by the way, is still generating hits for this blog. I'm not alone). If you can think of a good one, please share it with me.

1. Peanut butter. First of all, people, peanut butter is evil. It's fatty and sticky and once you stop eating it, it's in your mouth for a long time afterwards, tempting you to eat more and more and more. Fuck Skippy: this addictive paste is obviously ground out by Satan as he plucks the peanuts that dangle from his ceilings in hell. But enough about reasons to love peanut butter. I'm terrified of peanut butter because it's a goitrogen as well as an allergen that can kill small children in minutes. I'm terrified because I don't understand the immune system well enough to put the word goitrogen into perspective. I hear "thyroid-slowing food" and immediately think "neck tumor." I like my thyroid and neck the way they are, so no peanut butter for me, thanks. (P.S. Kissing after eating peanut butter is also not okay.)

2. Bathtubs and showers. In a perfect world, you get clean in a bathtub. Thinking about how imperfect this world's bathtubs are makes my toes curl. I cringe when I see cheesecake photos of women lounging in their bubble baths. Just imagining the invisible cast-off grime entrapped in soapy scum along the walls and edges of a bathtub, not to mention the hair, oh the hair, is enough for me to get in and out of my shower as quickly as possible. I bleach it down every morning and I still refuse to touch the walls and sides. My hot water bill is really low. I wear sandals in every bathroom except my own, and sometimes my anxiety takes hold and I can't help wearing them at home, too. Somehow dirt is just dirtier when it's in a place you get clean.

3. Eyes. I don't really have the stomach to justify this fear with vivid imagery. Well, I'll try. Eyes teeter at the verge of your sockets, held in by spidery ropes of nerves. They are outpoochings of your brain. They are covered in bulging red capillaries and pumped so full of vitreous humor (as opposed to vitriolic humor, like this blog) that the tightest little bump might burst them like a balloon. Oozing itching blinking twitching eyes.

Is it weird that thinking about eating peanut butter, strangers' showers, and eyes keeps me awake at night, but I can appreciate the beautiful nuances of a brain while I remove it from a rat's still-twitching, disembodied skull?