I Think I am Paranoid

I’m a pretty big scaredy-cat. Maybe it’s my overactive imagination—great for short story writing, not so good for maintaining sanity. The problem is that I build things up in my mind and turn unlikely disasters and traumas into surefire occurrences. They might not have happened yet, but I’m positive that in time they will. And the fear can at times take over, not in a crippling, paralyzing way like a true phobia, but enough to make me wonder if I’m crazy.Fire is the worst. I am terrified of fires. The more appliances that we have running in the apartment, the more positive I am that the whole place is about to burst into a ball of flames. It’s hot in Baltimore, now that summer has arrived, and our apartment becomes a sickening heat bath without fans and our two window air conditioners running. But I can’t stand to have them all going at once. I’m convinced that the fans and air conditioners are fighting for the same energy supply, a back and forth struggle of superior cooling that will only end in a split wire, a spark somewhere deep in the ceiling where I can’t notice it until it is too late and the living room will become engulfed in flames, burning me alive, as I sit on the couch watching The Office.

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