Facing Fear Head On

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Addressing the online social media is a recent addition to my daily list of tasks in marketing my book. Adding tweets and re-tweets to my six months of self-imposed exile are making me feel like the Birdman of Alcatraz. I've been writing non-stop since January, and now I'm hooked, though it's a far better addiction than others that have tugged at my soul unceasingly.

One day last week, I left the house for supplies, and the world seemed strangely unfamiliar to me for a moment with cars and trucks zooming by at the speed of light. Tons of steel were following too closely, and my life was threatened by hot-rodders zigzagging around me to arrive at a red light that turned green as I slowly approached the intersection. I never felt safe driving in Florida, and now I'm a bit more paranoid about becoming a statistic. It occurred to me after the routine drive that we're calm in the face of danger, but afraid of things that aren't life threatening at all. We should be afraid of tons of steel coming at us like grounded missiles-at least, scared enough to throw the cell phone in the back seat and to pay closer attention.

A few moments later, the telephone rang, and my heart began to throb. I know that I'm late with my mortgage payment, and I know that the call will be from some Type A sales rep demanding to know how I plan on coming up with the money. I'll beg. I'll cry and maybe start speaking in tongues so the loan shark will hang up. God, I hate this. I'm salivating to the sound of a bell like some Pavlovian dog. Why should I be afraid of what some stranger tells me through the mouthpiece of a telephone. Ain't nothin gonna happen cause you're a couple weeks late. Your financial life will improve before they take action. Logic doesn't help much, though. I need to be desensitized. Take charge. They can't hurt you all the way from India or wherever they are.

Hold on. The phone's ringing. I wipe the slobber from my chin and pick up the receiver, knowing that I'm speaking first. Whoever speaks last loses.

"Listen, I don't give a damn who you are or what you want. Leave me alone," I announce bravely, boldly.

Then comes the response, and I shrink in my chair. "Sorry, Dad. I didn't know it was you."