Since Halloween was this week, “scary” has been on my mind. It was definitely on my mind when I looked in the mirror this morning, but that’s another story.
“Scary” is such a versatile word. Halloween costumes are good-scary. Haunted houses and ghost stories are creepy-good-scary. Politicians are scary in a stomach-churning, “eeeuw-I-don’t-want-to-think-about-it” way.
There’s exciting-scary, when you’re hurtling down a black-diamond ski run and you catch an edge and almost lose it but you don’t, and the adrenaline slams into your veins and you let out a whoop and haul ass to the bottom grinning like a maniac.
There’s the detached sort of scary you get when you’re airborne immediately after parting company with your dirt bike or slipping on the stairs. It’s that short moment that takes approximately forever to experience, and your brain has exactly enough time to say in calm and reasonable tones, “Oh, shit, this is really going to hurt!”
And then there’s scary-scary. The kind of scary that makes your heart pound and your hands sweat. The kind of scary that makes you drop your shoulder like a defensive tackle and fling little old ladies in all directions as you bull your way through the lineup to get to the toilet before you shit your pants.
Well, maybe not really. And anyway, that only happened once. Don’t bug me.
My point is, even though “scary” is technically defined as a bad thing, we search it out in so many ways. When I was a kid, I always wanted to be something scary for Halloween. Some people would argue that I achieved “scary” on a regular basis, but they may be exaggerating. Though I do have a vivid memory of my mother saying, “Try not to be so… ferocious.” It wasn’t even Halloween.
But I never wanted to be a clown or a princess or a ballerina. I wanted to be a pirate, a headless person, or some other horrifying apparition. I wanted to make people shiver in abject terror. Note the clenched fist and fearsome grimace. I was seven at the time, and my sword was tinfoil-covered cardboard. I wanted a bigger, scarier sword, but cardboard wasn’t to be wasted and tinfoil was expensive.
When I got old enough to understand real fear, “scary” lost some of its attraction. But still, in fiction and movies, we have to have a dose of scary, or the storyline just seems flat. It makes me wonder if cave men sat around telling scary stories, too, or whether they had enough “scary” in their lives without making any up.
What is it about that burst of adrenaline? Maybe it’s the relief afterward. Maybe it’s the bragging rights when you’re sitting in the pub telling the story with a cold one in your hand, and your friends shiver and exclaim and laugh in all the right places.
I don’t know. All I know is, it’s my corporate yearend, and I have to wade through my financial records again. That’s a whole different kind of scary. And that story isn’t going to hold anybody enthralled at the pub, either.
P.S. I’ll be with my step-mom for the next week or two while she starts her chemo treatments, so I may be slow in responding to comments, and I might not make it around to comment on my favourite blogs. I’m still thinking of you, though. Thanks for visiting!
8 thoughts on “Ooooo, Scary!”
Best wishes to your step mom. I’ll be sending good thoughts her way.
Thank you so much! I’ll pass on your good wishes.
I think I know what you mean. As a kid, I always elected to be a “Monster” for Halloween. “Ballerina” or “Princess” would’ve been way too . . embarrassing. Though as an adult, one time I went to a Halloween party dressed as a “manufactured housing degenerate” (no offense to people who live in manufactured housing, I don’t know the PC term!) Another time I went as me, only with humongous breasts and a chronic urge to arch my back.
Ooo, how very PC! Seems to me that somebody over at Texas A&M defined political correctness the best. I can’t remember the exact words, but the paraphrase is, “Political correctness implies that it is actually possible to pick up a turd by the clean end.”
Sorry this took so long to appear; apparently WordPress decided to route your comments to spam. Maybe it has an objection to political correctness. 🙂
Um, sorry to disillusion you, but pirate you is more adorable than scary. *grin*
Sigh. Not quite the effect I had in mind at the time. That was, however, the last time in my life I ever qualified for the adjective “adorable”, so I guess I shouldn’t knock it. 🙂
Ooo nice post on all types of scary. Fear though is the real sort of scary that makes other scary stuff less scary. Then again, I read some where that we usually fear the unknown, and that’s the greatest fear (though I object to this as I go into a complete panic attack when I am confronted with an insect and I *know* what an insect is).
Hope all goes well for your step mom’s chemo as well 🙂
LOL! You’re right, just because you know what it is, it doesn’t mean it’s *not* scary. And thanks for the good wishes, I’ll be sure to pass them on to her.