Encore: An Interlude of Basophobia

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what was going to happen next… “Well!” thought Alice to herself “After such a fall as this, I shall think nothing of tumbling down-stairs! How brave they’ll all think me at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I fell off the top of the house!” (which was very likely true.) Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland chapter 1

If all unexpected falls happened as slowly as Alice’s and the clothing I was wearing would expand in some parachute like poof,

I would’t be having an “issue”.

Lately I’ve been afraid to fall down. That second of plummet where you tense your entire body, flailing in an attempt at regaining your balance then the racing heart rate afterward.

But you’d never know I possessed this fear considering I wear heels everyday to work.

And now that winter has obnoxiously slammed into my neck of the woods, sidewalks and parking lots and hallways smattered with melted snow puddles,

are rife with opportunities of slippage.

It’s not that I’ve never fallen before. I would be a good contender for poster child of klutziness. I’ve had epic falls recorded in the scar tissue on my appendages.

And I’m not afraid of embarrassing myself. I’ve ripped plenty of pants, snagged tights, and worn skid marks from the pavement on the seat of my pants.

So if I have such a plethora of experience why, all of a sudden, am I quickly sucking in my breath in that annoying “high strung, wound tighter than a top, needs an Ativan” kind of way?

I don’t think it’s because I’m afraid of pain and bruising that might ensue.

I think it’s more likely that I really,

REALLY

don’t even remotely want to feel that sense of being out of control.

I wonder what a psychoanalyst would say about my little problem? Am I feeling out of control with the “what” that is going on in my life?

Nope. No more than usual.

I guess I’ll have to stick to the plateaus on the bunny run at the cross-country ski trails (once we get enough snow) when I wish I could attack the expert runs with kamikaze exuberance.

So,

I’ll go out and by some cleats to attach to the soles of my black, knee-high, heeled boots, and avoid any shiny patches of precipitation in my path until this feeling passes.

Which might not be until spring.

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