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I know it’s Halloween but can we just talk about how much I am afraid of and actually hate zombies?

I am not afraid of spiders, or snakes, or critters (except cockroaches make me queasy, but they can hardly be classified as animals, they’re more like radioactive aliens or something).  I am not afraid of dogs or

I used to be afraid of sharks.  Deathly afraid.  Ok, perhaps “deathly” is a bit of an exaggeration.  I have yet to die from thinking about sharks.  However, all fears aside I took a solid couple of steps towards becoming okay with sharks when I passed my SCUBA certification over the summer.  I have yet to dive in the ocean–ya know, where they actually keep sharks–but I would very much like to give it a try.  And that, my friends, is saying a lot.  I doubt I will ever include sharks on my favorite animal list, but I have a much higher tolerance for them and possibly, even, a bit of respect.

I used to be afraid of the dark.  I couldn’t sleep in total blackness until just a few years ago.  I had a nightlight in my bedroom for ages and it wasn’t until I moved into my current apartment–with a blinking smoke detector on my bedroom ceiling and enough light coming through my window to distinguish furniture and furnishings–that I could give up the night light.

I am afraid of dead people.  Not ghosts, I think ghosts are either pests or friends.  But dead bodies.  Funerals are really hard for me, besides the emotional loss that must be dealt with one is expected to pay respects to the deceased person and his or her family.  Unfortunately, this usually requires walking past, staring at, talking to or otherwise interacting with a stone-cold dead body.  And the way funerals and viewings are set up, it is very difficult to tactfully avoid this part of a funeral.

When I was a very small child my great-grandfather died.  I wasn’t really upset about the whole situation; he was old and sick for as long as I could remember and my three-year-old mind understood that playing around in Heaven with Jesus and an unlimited supply of toys and candy had to be better than staying in the smelly nursing home.  At his funeral there was a very unfortunate incident with my toddling self and a grieving woman.  I was practically forced to kiss my great-grandfather’s cold, dead, waxy face.  Kiss him.  On the face.  While he was in his coffin.  This is so vividly burned onto my brain I doubt I could ever forget it.

Shudder…this gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it.  I was three!  Who does that?!?  I suppose the good news is that a few years later when my goldfish died I didn’t think anything of it.  At least no one made me kiss my dead fish before I flushed it to goldfishy heaven.

I am afraid of zombie’s.  Yeah yeah, they aren’t “real”, blah blah blah.  Whatever.  They are creepy.  And essentially dead people, but without the sterile smell and fake-satin lined casket.  Zombie’s are creepy!  I hate zombie movies, zombie hauntings, zombie references, the works.  I don’t even really want to talk about it.  Because last time I watched a zombie movie (that wasn’t supposed to be a zombie movie, actually) I had nightmares for months and frankly, I’d rather not start doing that all over again.  I won’t be dressing up as a zombie or any other kind of dead/un-dead individual this year.  I never do.  It’s just too creepy.

So, let the record show that I am terrified of zombies and any other version of dead people.  What are you afraid of?

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