More Scariness!

On my rampant quest to force feed books down my throat, I took another trip up to the library on Thursday and checked out 7 more books. Two down, five more to go. The first one I read was Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin, which was a bit drawn out, but otherwise pretty good. I attempted to read Something Blue but Darcy is so intolerable, I decided to put it aside for now. So next on my list was The Cobra Event by Richard Preston and while not quite at the level of scariness as The Hot Zone and also a work of fiction unlike the other 2 books, but damn- it still was pretty horrifying. That Cobra virus was pretty fucking scary.

I have stated it previously I am not particularly scared of death. However, what could possibly scare me is the matter that causes my death. Chemical and nuclear warfare and meltdowns and all that are pretty damn scary, but they still do not scare me even half as much as biological warfare. And to make it even scarier is not being blasted with smallpox or ebola. Its being blasted with something that is engineered and not even named yet. I briefly considered going for biotechnology back in 2005- which is why I had to suffer through Programming in BASIC; it was a pre-req for a required BT course- but boy, I am glad I never went through with that.

I was sitting the other day writing some stuff down- I guess in a way trying to put down into words if the day ever comes when I decide to tell someone outloud my secret- and I realized that no matter how much convincing I do- no matter how much I remind myself of all the things I will not be able to do, no matter how much research I have done on complications and other problems, no matter how much money could go out for this- it is never enough to change my mind. There really is no way out of this nightmare, except 1, the most obvious, it actually happens for me; 2. death; 3. severe amnesia. Oh, but my brain will find someone way to make sure, even if I suffered severe brain damage, to keep torturing me with it. Virtually every single aspect of my life and memory could be wiped clean and it would probably still be standing there, laughing its head off and screaming tough luck, babe! You can't EVER get rid of me! And for some reason, I can picture it having a voice and a laugh like the talking fan in the Futurama episode "Mother's Day".

When I was younger I had an excellent memory. I could recall down to what I wore and what I ate on even the simplest days. I have a horrible memory now. I think it was all those psychiatric drugs. I will ask someone something and not even five minutes later I will ask them the same question with absolutely no recollection of ever asking them before. But bad things in my life are never forgotten. Oh no. They live on in my memory.

I have mentioned before that I have social anxiety. Bad, crippling social anxiety. Most people with social problems like this are at least comfortable around family and friends and I am more so than around strangers, but I still have a high degree of discomfort around them. When I have actually worked, when someone is friendly with me, I usually feel a little bit more at ease and can actually be quite pleasant to talk with. There is the possibility of a job offer coming my way that is a call center job. I unfortunately am just not horrible face to face with people, but absolutely atrocious over the phone. I want to think that this job would be a good experience and might help me, but I just have a nagging feeling that it will not. I could be quite capable of doing a very good job with a position like this, but in the end the social anxiety will be there to destroy it somehow. I am desparate for a job and the pay is pretty good and I cannot afford to be fussy with the economy, but the idea of doing the job makes me sick to my stomach.