Feel the fear…

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Feel the fear and do it anyway.

That’s what they say.

Hah. Easy for them to say.

I have got as far as feeling the fear. The ‘doing it anyway’ part seems to be much harder.

Do you guys have phobias? I don’t know whether mine count as real phobias. The current problem one is heights. I mean, I’m 5’3″, and as far as I’m concerned, I’m short for a reason. Why would anyone want to be taller than that? (Other than for getting things off high shelves, looking gorgeous and leggy in practically everything… oh. Yes. I get the point).

But tomorrow I have to go up into The Loft. There is now a pull-down ladder, so the terrors of the freestanding stepladder which doesn’t go all the way up so you have to balance on the top, are no longer a problem. But it’s still just as high. Rationally, I know that if I wear sensible shoes and hold on, I will not fall. Unfortunately, my mind is not rational when it comes to the subject of heights.

But this is one I absolutely have to conquer. The Loft can no longer be a mysterious zone, an area of my house that I only know exists from the reports of others; I have to experience The Loft (via The Ladder) for myself.

Tomorrow is the day. No more procrastinating. No more forgetting about it until late at night when I’m wearing pyjamas and slippers (so not ladder-climbing attire). Tomorrow I go up into The Loft.

Of course, you realise that this is part of my strategy. Now that you guys know about it, I can’t back down. I have to (as has already been suggested) ‘man up and grow a pair’ or admit that I wussed out.

So, if there’s never another post on this blog, you all know why. I bottled it and didn’t dare come back to tell you.

Or else I fell off the treacherous Ladder, sucked down into the yawning abyss of The Stairs, and was tragically killed by breaking every single bone in my body (even the small ones in the ear that are quite hard to do) as my poor pathetic corpse bounced off every single stair, to come to an ignominious halt against the barrier – too late, too late! – of the Front Door.

Farewell all! I go to meet my doom.

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