Secret Confessions

Ok, it's time for my secret confessions blog. Not that I feel a deep need to confess stuff, just bored and can't think of anything better to write about. Other than I still have this stupid cough! After two weeks!! Rahh!!

Confession one: I hate cleaning up. The only thing that keeps the whole house from filling with trash and caving in on itself is guilt. Growing up we had daily chores which was fine with me, except for the kitchen-- I hated it and still do. My dad was very strict about keeping the house clean, which is amazing since I never in my life have ever seen him lift a finger in the house. Sure, he'd bust tail keeping the yard clean, but never, never did I ever witness him washing a plate or scrubbing a toilet. Still he has an amazing work ethic, which I unfortunately did not inherit. Being a lazy slob, I am burdened by the knowledge that I shouldn't be a lazy slob, hence the guilt. It doesn't help that I'm the only one around here that does anything in the way of straightening up, cleaning, laundry, not to mention I do most of the cooking, which I also pretty much hate, only because of the cleaning that must be done afterwards. So I guess the motivation is guilt and resentment. I know, I volunteered for the job, so I should just suck it up and shut up.

Confession two: I'm a miserable coward three feet off the ground. My deepest lamest phobia is my pathetic fear of heights. It really is pathetic. I can be standing on a ladder to change a light bulb and get the willies. In fact last time I changed the light bulb on the front porch I nearly hyperventilated even though I was barely five feet off the ground. I'm perfectly aware of how stupid it is, I know that I couldn't possibly be hurt even if I fell and landed on my head. The stupidest I've ever felt was when I went to the Blue Ridge Parkway with my sister and got so freaked out from driving on the edge of cliffs that when we got to the top of the mountain I couldn't even get out of the car because the wind was blowing. Today I visited my sister who's nine months pregnant and needed some help getting stuff into her attic. There's only a small access panel in the hallway ceiling and I was standing on a ladder propped against the wall trying to get the stupid panel open but was too scared to climb any higher because I'd have to let go of the ladder and Maggie got so disgusted with me she climbed up there herself, huge baby belly and all, and made me hand stuff up to her. I always said the reason I never reached five feet (I'm four feet ten and a half inches) was because I'd be too scared to stand up.

Confession three: I'm sensitive sometimes-- but don't tell anyone!! There are probably only about ten people in the world who have ever seen me cry, and if you're one of them, feel lucky. I'm not the heartless jerk I pretend to be; there are times when I get teary, but I'd rather be bludgeoned with a rotting walrus carcass than have anyone witness it when I do. Like the other day when I was finishing up "How Green Was My Valley" and the narrator gets all nostalgic and starts talking about how all his dead loved ones are still alive in his mind. Of course I was recovering from the flu and in a weakened state-- luckily everyone else was downstairs watching tv so I could wipe my eyes with my sleeves in privacy.

Last confession (and the lamest one by far): I wish I could sing like Karen Carpenter. Not that I'd ever sing in public if I could. Just the satisfaction of knowing I could would be enough. It's embarrassing enough that I have a Carpenters CD and that I listen to it enough in the car that Henry will ask me to put something else on (He's not really a fan, except for that "sing a song" one they did for Sesame Street).

Well, that's it. Hope you had a good laugh at my expense. I set myself up for it anyway.