Word of the Week 12-13-2017



The fear of referring to yourself. The fear of using the pronouns “I” or “Me.”


A good example of autophoby is Elmo of Sesame Street.  He never says those pronouns!



Quote For The Day 12-12-2017

 “Once upon a time, the Reindeer took a running leap and jumped over the Northern Lights.

But he jumped too low, and the long fur of his beautiful flowing tail got singed by the rainbow fires of the aurora.

To this day the reindeer has no tail to speak of. But he is too busy pulling the Important Sleigh to notice what is lost. And he certainly doesn’t complain.

What’s your excuse?”
Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration


Response 12-11-2017 – JSW Prompt 11-6-2017

20170711_180535.jpgPhoto by csk
Feel free to join in and respond to the prompt. Please try to keep your response under 300 words. If you reply, I will re-blog your post to my site (sometimes I am slow, but I get there).

The tunnel opened up to curving road, a half circle here, almost-full circle there, knotted twists and turns between. Like always, he was driving too fast, the need to test the limits of his car, his reactions, his fear, drowning him. He’d done it before and he’d do it again. So far, he’d survived, a realization to which he rarely paid attention.

He sped around another curve, tires sliding towards the edge of the cliff, heart pounding with the thrill of almost destruction.

His phone kept ringing. And ringing. He didn’t answer. It would be Jay or Kerry or one of the others, not knowing where he was, but knowing what he was doing. Teasing death. Taunting. Longing. Always on edge.

He’d always known he’d die young. Geniuses did. Look at Kurt Cobain.  Jimi Hendrix. Chopin. Mozart. Schubert. Billy the Kid. Joan of Arc. Okay, so the last two weren’t musical geniuses, but that wasn’t the point. The point was they died young.

And yet, here he was. Twenty-five and still alive. Not that, in the overall scheme of things, he wanted to die, but he didn’t see any alternative to the cold edge of darkness sliding knife-edged through his veins.

Jay again on Voice Mail. “Where are you? Don’t do it. Please, Chris. Don’t.”

It was the fear and pain in Jay’s voice that reached him. He could hurt himself without fear, but to hurt his friends? He couldn’t do that.

Slamming on the brakes sent him skidding sideways, struggling for control, seeing the guard rail looming closer and closer. And, for an instant, fear.