I admit it, I’m terrified of heights. They give me the screaming fantods. I get dizzy, I get nauseous, I need to sit down and grab something. This isn’t a joke. Back when I was with the ex, she thought I would try to shirk my household responsibilities because I wouldn’t hang my clothes on the outdoor line. Well, I’m sorry, but hanging over the 3rd-storey balcony trying to clip wet garments on the line was a task I dreaded.
Granted, I really don’t have much opportunities to experience this anymore but, the other day, in the boardroom, some of us were standing around, looking out the window. The cold sweats started. Um, yeah, let me just back away here. Even reading about lsc’s tale about sky-diving (with a man strapped to her back, no less) made me want a glass of water.
I don’t understand it: I could be high up a mountain cliff and everything’s ducky. I’m actually enjoying myself and can’t imagine doing anything else. But, get to rest while the other person climbs, given the chance to look around, and all bones seems to disappear from my knees. So, what I’m saying is, if you want your clothes hung up, find someone else, ’cause I can’t do it. Unless I’m tied to a rope. Don’t know what that says about me.