I’ve been thinking about fear lately.
Yes, I’ve literally been sitting around pondering the concept of being afraid.
No, I don’t think that’s odd.
These are my surmises:
I am not sure if I’m terrified of moths, or terrified to encounter moths, or if there is any difference. I am not even sure why I am terrified of moths (other than the obvious: they’re horrendous creatures that attack humans for sport). (And because Stoker lists them as one of “the meaner things” under Dracula’s control.)
But, parsing my fears, I am stuck on the suspicion that my fear is somehow never present, that fear lacks currency, immediacy; that fear possesses an inherently futuristic quality.
This was okay until how do you conquer something so removed from the present?
Mary's One Hundred 