I haven’t written here for a week because I’ve been working on my real writing. (I think of this blog as fake writing, which is weird since so far it’s the only kind of writing I show to people. Except dog journalism, which I also kind of consider fake.) But for the last 36 hours I’ve been engaged in a monster rally of procrastination and at this point I’ve got to write something or explode so fuck it, let’s talk about sharks.
I have way too many fears, and I know it because I am afraid of sharks. I am so afraid of sharks that for years I actually had recurring nightmares about them. It didn’t occur to me that this is a ridiculous fear until last night, when I kept shuddering out loud while reading the shark section in my giant textbook about the ocean, and Gene finally pointed out that unless you actually live in the sea there is almost nothing easier to avoid than sharks. Basically, in terms of easy-avoidability, there’s outer space and then there are sharks. I mean, yes, it’s possible that Al Gore and all of science are drastically underestimating the speed and impact of global warming and that one day I might wake up underwater, but I probably shouldn’t be losing sleep over it, especially when there are so many better things to be afraid of, like spiders.
You don’t bother them, they won’t bother you. This is not my shark.