While not necessarily riddled with neuroses and phobias, I have a few.

Blood. When I am near blood spilt by another, especially when the blood gets on other things, events can kind of darken and even go black for me. It’s a completely involuntary reaction — I don’t get all “eek! ew!” worked-up squeamish beforehand, I just hit the deck. Sometimes even TV images can do it. I was watching a show about forensics a while back, and researchers  were running and walking while carrying knifes dipped in blood. This was to demonstrate how the blood droplets on the ground take on different shapes, depending on the speed of the knife-carrier (which then, presumably, determines the nonchalance of the stabber.) My point is, watching the knife points drip drip drip on the white paper laid out on the ground … even just writing about it makes the brain warning bells go off.

And oh god, the stapler scene in The Wrestler … Darling Andrew can attest that I spent several tense moments determining whether I would slump, faint, then lie amongst the Jujubes and discarded movie tickets in Theater Number Two.

My own blood is generally okay, I can even watch when it’s being taken. But … well, more on that later.

Razors. It’s one of the few times I really say GAH. I just quietly close my eyes and think of pretty things when there is shaving in my vicinity — and I run if it’s one of those long razors. My Elderly Relative has taken to coming to me to ask if he’s missed a spot while shaving his face. I have to hold on to my sanity with both hands while he’s scccccrrraaaaaaaaaping his face.

Again, shaving as it pertains to me is okay. I’m not a fan of holding razors (again: GAH,) but the act of shaving my legs is just one of those chores.

Fish. I’ve gotten much, much better about this, but I used to often panic when standing in water, thinking of the possibility of fish sliding by my legs. I also really hate fish with big mouths, and don’t do well in Chinese markets or aquariums that feature those big gapey mouthy fishes. And do not get me started about the flounder, that completely freakishly effed-up fish with its face on one side of its body. Oh my god, what is wrong with the world:

I will devote a blog post unto itself about the hows and whys of this phobia, but let’s move on, shall we?

Needle breakoff. I’m not afraid of needles or having injections or blood drawn or anything like that, but. I used to be a regular, good-do-bee blood giving citizen, but now I’m not, thanks to the mobile blood donation van. About 6 years ago I was in the middle of giving blood in one of those teeny tiny vans, and someone jostled me, hard, while trying to maneuver down the narrow aisle. Of course, my arm with the needle in it was the body part being jostled, and I involuntarily bent my elbow. So, that was kind of horribly painful. The needle didn’t break, but I’m haunted by the experience, and really can’t bring myself to give blood again.

Dentists and dentistry. Can’t talk about it, and if you do in my vicinity, I will burst into tears. Seriously.

Other things that I fear but on a lesser level:

• Dust mites and other microscopic bugs that are all over you and me and everywhere else
• People that will talk incessantly at me until I die
• Tapeworms don’t sound fun. You can find out your own chances of getting a tapeworm here!
• Magnets — I am afraid of them wiping out my credit card stripe information
• The screen door that randomly slams shut harder than usual as I walk in, hitting the back of my ankle. I fear that it’s going to snap a tendon one time.
• Intimacy
• A Black Planet