I feel like I have often written about my fear of bees and wasps on this blog. This will not deter me from writing about it again today.
Several months ago, I was having recurrent nightmares about bees, which was odd because it was the middle of winter, and my apian nightmares typically don't start until spring. In my dreams, I returned home to find my bedroom infested with so many bees that they covered the wall like wallpaper, teeming on my bed and books, and streaming out of a gaping hole in the wall where they must have made their nest. The humming surrounded me, droning and and out of focus as I was charged with the task of blocking up the nest entrance myself with a clumsy, melting block of clay. All of my nightmares ended with me running from the bees, unable to escape the incessant buzzing as a dense cloud of insects followed me into oblivion.
Every morning I awoke exhausted and confused as to why my apiphobia was emerging so early in the year.
One night I awoke unexpectedly in the middle of a bee nightmare, and the terrifying hum of insects still penetrated my bedroom. In a panic, I patted my bedding and shook my head in case there were bees crawling in it. No? Then what was this humming sound?
I realized very quickly that it was my new upstairs neighbor, who is apparently insane, vacuuming at 3am. WHO VACUUMS AT 3AM!? Every night!? Needless to say, I don't have very much affection for my new neighbor. Actually, I despise her and her red-eye vacuuming, schizophrenic plant care schedule, and seemingly normal and pleasant interactions with me when we occasionally run into each other on the walkway. Anybody who makes me dream of bees is my instant and permanent enemy.
Keep that in mind, Jerry Seinfeld.
Showing posts with label neurotika. Show all posts
Showing posts with label neurotika. Show all posts
April 3, 2010
September 9, 2009
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?
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?
August 15, 2009
Can vodka cure headaches?
When I was a senior in high school, my gigantic wisdom teeth pressed on a nerve in my jaw and gave me a headache for almost the entire year, nonstop. Or maybe the kids I went to school with were just so annoying, blonde, and orange that I was in psychic pain all the time... I don't know. If you went to my high school you'd understand that both options are equally likely. I had my wisdom teeth removed and graduated high school in the same week, and the headaches went away. Hooray!
But I get headaches now that are almost as bad as that one. Let me tell you this week's tale of woe: On Tuesday before I went to a concert, I started getting a headache. I kept it at bay by taking 3 Advil with a Guinness. That is probably not so great for my liver, but what's done is done. The next day it was back! So I left work early and took a nap. Then it was back again! And I haven't been able to shake it since.
Here is something you shouldn't do when you have a headache: Go on internet medical advice websites. All I can think about now is how I may have a subarachnoid bleed. Every ten minutes I'm running to the mirror to see if there's blood leaking from my ear. But if my meninges were hemmoraging for 5 days, wouldn't I be craving meat? Probably, since I'm already (according to the blood drives that reject me) "dangerously anemic." It's okay: If I sit really still and try not to breathe much and don't think about anything or open my eyes, I barely feel any pain. It's like being dead.
Random aside: I was at the gym this morning laughing to myself about a cat food commercial. I think it's weird that they advertise salmon, lobster, and sea bass as a "natural" diet for cats. When was the last time you saw a cat deep-sea fishing or cracking open a lobster tail? Hell, cats don't even have the opposable digits to properly handle a seafood fork. You might as well give them pureed polar bear liver, because they're just as likely to eat that in the wild.
But I get headaches now that are almost as bad as that one. Let me tell you this week's tale of woe: On Tuesday before I went to a concert, I started getting a headache. I kept it at bay by taking 3 Advil with a Guinness. That is probably not so great for my liver, but what's done is done. The next day it was back! So I left work early and took a nap. Then it was back again! And I haven't been able to shake it since.
Here is something you shouldn't do when you have a headache: Go on internet medical advice websites. All I can think about now is how I may have a subarachnoid bleed. Every ten minutes I'm running to the mirror to see if there's blood leaking from my ear. But if my meninges were hemmoraging for 5 days, wouldn't I be craving meat? Probably, since I'm already (according to the blood drives that reject me) "dangerously anemic." It's okay: If I sit really still and try not to breathe much and don't think about anything or open my eyes, I barely feel any pain. It's like being dead.
Random aside: I was at the gym this morning laughing to myself about a cat food commercial. I think it's weird that they advertise salmon, lobster, and sea bass as a "natural" diet for cats. When was the last time you saw a cat deep-sea fishing or cracking open a lobster tail? Hell, cats don't even have the opposable digits to properly handle a seafood fork. You might as well give them pureed polar bear liver, because they're just as likely to eat that in the wild.
June 30, 2009
Today's edition of Things That Can Only Happen To Me
Today I was teaching a lab class about insect foraging, so the students and I walked to UNC's arboretum for some observation of the fast-paced world of honey bee life. I got lost. In the arboretum. By myself. The students had to come find me. It's a good thing I have a good sense of humor about myself because that is harikari-quality embarrassing.
If you've ever driven with me, you know I pretty much can't pass cars. I just can't do it! It seems rude, and you can't deny that changing lanes adds some extra hazard to being on a four lane road. You know it does, you devilish maverick driver, you. Well, this IMMENSE MOVING VAN cut me off in the parking lot of my gym (what was it doing at the gym? "Hi I think I'll relocate oh wait how about some cardio now") then ended up driving 25 mph directly in front of me from the gym to my apartment. It finally pulled into my own apartment complex and TOOK MY SPACE. That's what I get for being a neurotic, ultraconsiderate driver, I guess.
Why does this happen? Probably because my common sense IQ is approximately that of an anaesthetized rhesus monkey's.
If you've ever driven with me, you know I pretty much can't pass cars. I just can't do it! It seems rude, and you can't deny that changing lanes adds some extra hazard to being on a four lane road. You know it does, you devilish maverick driver, you. Well, this IMMENSE MOVING VAN cut me off in the parking lot of my gym (what was it doing at the gym? "Hi I think I'll relocate oh wait how about some cardio now") then ended up driving 25 mph directly in front of me from the gym to my apartment. It finally pulled into my own apartment complex and TOOK MY SPACE. That's what I get for being a neurotic, ultraconsiderate driver, I guess.
Why does this happen? Probably because my common sense IQ is approximately that of an anaesthetized rhesus monkey's.
May 31, 2009
Uh oh, EtOH!
Last night I crawled home at 4:30 am after a looooooong night of drinking. I woke up at 9 am and stumbled downstairs, a little drunk. I grabbed the sunday crossword puzzle and finished it in record time. Usually I get pissed off at one of the corners and lose interest. (You probably think I'm an idiot now, but whatever, we all have different skills. Mine are irrelevant blogging and Olympic-caliber dating. Yours are... crosswords? How fun for you.)
Next, I finished the quote acrostic. It's this bitch of a puzzle that I've been trying to beat for years... YEARS!!! Then I did the super jumble in less than 2 minutes. Last night in the bar, I couldn't calculate 20% tip on a $12 tab... and listen, I'm not THAT bad at math. It's $2.40, okay?
I wonder if alcohol changes the way the brain is balanced such that the power dynamic between hemispheres (or otherwise "opposing" brain regions) is upset? Finally, an fMRI study that doesn't bore me to death: how average regional BOLD activity changes before, during, and after copious alcohol consumption. Use each subject as his own control, provide an open bar and mingling with attractive strangers (to encourage excess imbibing), and make them get in the MRI machine to do word and math problems every four hours. I'd go to that party. I think the study would explain why so many great writers were also great drinkers, an issue of obvious interdisciplinary importance. What's that, NIH? What are "ethics"?
Next, I finished the quote acrostic. It's this bitch of a puzzle that I've been trying to beat for years... YEARS!!! Then I did the super jumble in less than 2 minutes. Last night in the bar, I couldn't calculate 20% tip on a $12 tab... and listen, I'm not THAT bad at math. It's $2.40, okay?
I wonder if alcohol changes the way the brain is balanced such that the power dynamic between hemispheres (or otherwise "opposing" brain regions) is upset? Finally, an fMRI study that doesn't bore me to death: how average regional BOLD activity changes before, during, and after copious alcohol consumption. Use each subject as his own control, provide an open bar and mingling with attractive strangers (to encourage excess imbibing), and make them get in the MRI machine to do word and math problems every four hours. I'd go to that party. I think the study would explain why so many great writers were also great drinkers, an issue of obvious interdisciplinary importance. What's that, NIH? What are "ethics"?
March 19, 2009
I am stupid
So far this week, I...
I don't think #2 is that bad... imagine if one day you simply vanished into a hippocampal wonderland of place cells, AMPA receptor trafficking, and neurotransmitter playgrounds. That's where good neurobiologists go when they die. (Bad neuroscientists have to hang out with Carl Jung.)
- picked UCLA to beat Duke,
- claimed that I wanted to be "the Amelia Earhart of neurobiology,"
- exploded small tubes of glass all over a table and wiped them up with my bare hands,
- cried over a boy (Although estrogen can probably take the fall for this craptasm),
- LOL'ed a Friends episode,
- watched a For The Love Of Ray J marathon,
- managed to ruin hummus,
- and forgot my umbrella after obsessing over the hour-by-hour forecast for ten minutes one morning.
I don't think #2 is that bad... imagine if one day you simply vanished into a hippocampal wonderland of place cells, AMPA receptor trafficking, and neurotransmitter playgrounds. That's where good neurobiologists go when they die. (Bad neuroscientists have to hang out with Carl Jung.)
February 3, 2009
Ad obnoxium
Lately I have been a lot more irritated than usual. A variety of factors have probably combined to create this effect... Last week's unprecedented eight days of migraine, probably the effect of some combination of small lifestyle alterations, attests to my recent neurological sensitivity. The fact that I'm surrounded by females all the time in my new lab also makes me a little edgy.
What's sort of hilarious is that I'm finding myself being annoyed to the point of almost rage by things that happened too long ago to be of any importance, or things that I consider myself a douchebag for being angry about. This is why, today, I bring you a list called "Ridiculous Things that Annoy Me: 2/3/09 Edition"
What's sort of hilarious is that I'm finding myself being annoyed to the point of almost rage by things that happened too long ago to be of any importance, or things that I consider myself a douchebag for being angry about. This is why, today, I bring you a list called "Ridiculous Things that Annoy Me: 2/3/09 Edition"
- People who walk slowly. EVERYONE in the South walks like they are in an art museum, gazing contemplatively at a Monet. Girls walk in groups so it's hard to pass them on the sidewalk, so I become trapped behind them and forced to listen to their inane logic about why some boy can't commit, or how cold the 60 degree weather is.
- People who sit next to me on the bus and impede my ability to get off at my stop. There is an empty row over there! Get away from me!! You smell bad!!!
- Women. You need to toughen up, ladies, and stop acting like delicate southern belles.
- Men. Desperation is irritating. Pretending to be considerate so I will feel obligated to hang out with you is more irritating.
- The price of produce-- $2 for an avocado? What the fuck!?
- Weather that is too cold for just a sweatshirt but too warm for a peacoat. I am from Chicago. The central limit theorem does not apply to temperatures there.
- FROGS THAT WILL NOT MATE. Their whole brain is just designed to help them have sex more efficently. It's like when you grab a Kleenex and blow right through it-- what's the goddamn point?
- Polymerase chain reaction.
- My parents. I'm not sure if it's because they are exhibiting every sign I can recognise for early dementia, or because they've been like that since I was five so I know it's just their personality.
- House (the TV show). The character "13" needs to die. I am going to quit watching.
- Waiting for food to cook. I AM HUNGRY NOW, DAMNIT.
January 10, 2009
Disneyland Nightmare Vacation
This blog got 50 hits yesterday, which sort of blows my mind. One of those hits was for "masklophobia." You may remember my paranoid post in which I lamented my fear of costumed people/animals. I hope that I helped you, anonymous masklophobia researcher, with your investigation of a phobia that has ruined Halloween and all theme parks for me and tens of other neurotic freaks.
A friend of mine recently went to a wedding at Disneyworld. This, too, blows my mind.
weddings + costumed characters = ELYSE'S ULTIMATE HELL
If you're my friend and you get married at Disney, I'll send you a gift and be happy for you, but I'm sorry, I cannot be a part of that. I don't even want to see pictures unless I've had a shot or two of tequila to calm my nerves.
Do you really want Mickey and Minnie on your honeymoon? Their unblinking, soulless eyes would haunt you during your most romantic moments, the shining plastic whites reflecting moonlight ominously within the intimacy of your Epcot marriage suite. All night long, you'll lie awake in fear of the gentle caress of a pair of large, gloved hands up your bare back... you startle as you hear the unmistakable sound of one oversized button slipping from its hole, then another. The giant head leans closer. You begin to scream uncontrollably...
A friend of mine recently went to a wedding at Disneyworld. This, too, blows my mind.
weddings + costumed characters = ELYSE'S ULTIMATE HELL
If you're my friend and you get married at Disney, I'll send you a gift and be happy for you, but I'm sorry, I cannot be a part of that. I don't even want to see pictures unless I've had a shot or two of tequila to calm my nerves.
Do you really want Mickey and Minnie on your honeymoon? Their unblinking, soulless eyes would haunt you during your most romantic moments, the shining plastic whites reflecting moonlight ominously within the intimacy of your Epcot marriage suite. All night long, you'll lie awake in fear of the gentle caress of a pair of large, gloved hands up your bare back... you startle as you hear the unmistakable sound of one oversized button slipping from its hole, then another. The giant head leans closer. You begin to scream uncontrollably...
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