I realized a few days ago that I didn't always have the phone phobia. I don't know when it started. Alas, things like ordering a pizza and making appointments are way the heck on top of my hated phone call list. The only reason I don't mind talking to my mom on the phone is that I know she hates it too.

Or more simply, I understand.

ALSO!! Going for the photo shoot and the gun shoot is absolutely awesome. That there is a whole lot of movement into the discomfort zone. Seriously, I am impressed.

Very impressive moving out of the comfort zone, Steph!

I hate talking on the phone unless I'm calling to get someone to do something for me, like make me an appointment or bring me a pizza. The only people I want to phone-chat with are people I know real well, because I can see their faces and I know their voices.

Well, the shooting range is -- I hope this makes sense -- I am so anti-gun, I wanted to see what it's like to shoot a handgun. (I've shot my Dad's BB gun when I was a pre-teen, and a few years ago I shot -- or attempted to -- clay pigeons with my brother. But those are really different from a handgun.) I don't anticipate it making me all "Yay, guns for everyone!" (or even "Yay guns"), but I want to try it. Mostly.

And the pinup thing -- well, I'm somewhat vain, and I love the retro pinup look but am far too lazy to actually develop it as a personal style. And, related to that last point, Tim never complains about my daily uniform of works-from-home hobo chic, but he really likes the dressed-up look. (Hell, he was thrilled when I put on a sundress to go get BBQ the other night.) So I wanted to do something nice for him. He can stick a picture in his wallet and refer to it when I've been wearing the same yoga pants for a week.

Are you going to surprise him? I am sure he will LOVE the picture. (As I imagine we will too)

Are you going to surprise him?

No, because I can't keep a secret. Plus I don't know when I'll be doing it, so I may end up coming home all made up, and I would have zero cover story for fancy makeup and Liberty rolls. And, I know me, and I'm going to want to tell him all about how it went as soon as it happens. I'm like a 3-year-old when it comes to secrets.

I'm going to try to schedule it for soon after vacation, though, because I really want to cut like 4 inches off my hair, but it'll be easier to do fancy retro hair if mine is longer.

I first agreed to learn how to shoot because, A) I wanted to be like Linda Hamilton in Terminator, and B) because they were something I didn't want to be afraid of. I respect the hell out of them, think there are far too many of them, and loads of the wrong people have them. Knowing how they feel when they go off informs my writing tremendously. If confronted with one, I know its--and likely the shooter's--limitations. Going to shoot one once will move them from ominous mystery to just ominous.

ION, Hubby's not doing well. He's picked up a gastric infection that is being very stubborn about responding to antibiotics. He's up in ICU. The infection is messing with his heart and is pushing his pulse up, which is making it hard for him to breathe. They intubated him today to take the pressure of breathing off him, so he called me today, since this will be the last time he'll be able to talk until they get that out of him. He's confined to bed, and he's going to be restrained so he doesn't try to pull it out. He's already freaking out from being confined to bed. This is messing with his mind as much as his body. I'm going up on Friday to talk to his doctors and hold his hand.

And a bit ago there was a knock on the door. A friendly older gentleman, "Hi, I'm a representative from Lincoln Funeral Care. Your husband returned a card asking for information." Maybe he did. I kind of don't think so, we've been pissed about the attention of the funeral industry, and if he dies of this he's not getting a standard funeral. In any case, he didn't say anything to me about it, and he wouldn't have agreed to have someone come to the house.

So I told the guy I didn't know anything about it, Hubby's in the hospital, I don't want to talk to you. "But he sent back the card. Who else would send in the card?" "I don't know, but I didn't know about it. I'll let him know you were here." "Where is he?" "Huntsman Cancer Hospital." "Oh, well I hope it's not terminal." "So do I." "Oh, you don't know?" "Not yet." He'd handed me a print out of Hubby's information with some boilerplate about the funeral information, and he hinted that I could give it back to him. I told him I'd let Hubby see it.

I didn't swear at him once! Yay, me!

Just as well I took the day off, what with all the phone tag today. Maybe if I don't take days off things will go smoother.

God. That has to be the most insensitive...

I feel you on all of that, Steph, esp the gun range. I want to go to a shooting range some day, but DH is so anti-gun it makes it hard to bring it up.

And this?

So really, I am whining over ONE speaker. But it's a stranger! And therefore scary and might drain my life force over the phone because that's how phones work!

I was asked to direct the Undergraduate Writers' Conference for my department and it's a big ol' honor so I had to say yes, but getting the speaker every year? This X 100, oh my God! Because it's both phone anxiety plus Imposter Syndrome. Ugh. And it's just me being stupid because I KNOW WRITERS. But the guy before me was a published poet and he got all these big names and ... wilt...

I didn't swear at him once! Yay, me!

That sounds like a considerable accomplishment.