Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Everyone Has a Little Insane in Them

For the most part, I'm a very rational, rather calm person. I don't give in to many forms of paranoia. I don't worry about 2012 (on a daily basis, at least) and I don't worry over the fate of my IRA or think overmuch about crime (despite the fact that I have had my car stolen before). In fact, when I think about it, I don't have any rational phobias that I can think of. I do, however, have several completely obscure and irrational paranoias.

The most bizarre came about slowly, building over the last several years, ever since I saw my first glimpse of Google Earth. There, before my eyes, was proof that there are incredibly powerful telescopic cameras in space that can take pictures of something as small as my toenail. It wasn't movie magic. It wasn't some trick of photoshop.

It was fascinating, but over time, my mind has warped this fascination into a science fiction tingle of horror—at any time, someone could be using some space camera to watch me (when I'm outside—I don't think they've penetrated roofs yet). Most of the time, I don't think about these cameras. The times I do? When I'm walking from my mailbox back to my apartment with my mail. For some strange reason that doesn't make sense even to me, I don't like having my name and address point up to the sky, where some anonymous person could read the label and know where I live.

Totally crazy, right? I mean, first of all, why would someone who didn't know my name want to find me? And if they did know my name, there are a dozen much easier ways to figure out where I live. I'm sure an Internet search could provide an address if people wanted to really hunt for it.

The paranoia has grown into not wanting random people to know where I live, which is amusing, because I don't think that people are "out to get me" or have any nefarious plans for me; I simply don't want strangers knowing my home address. Which is why I don't think I've ever mentioned the town I live in on this site. It's also why I don't leave mail laying face up in my car. It's why I shred or rip up all my address labels.

It's weird quirks like this that round out a personality, and a good thing to add to a story to make a character seem more real. Or that's what I'm telling myself to rationalize my neurosis.

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