Around the house are signs of the impending apocalypse... the cat sits sulkily in my suitcase and refuses to move, the bottle of diet Mountain Dew has run out, my summer vacation is officially booked (wouldn't the fates just love to steal that from me?), the calendar reminds me that this flight is an anniversary of another... there are signs and wonders everywhere, and Harold Camping isn't the only one who can see them.
The trick is, of course, that I know the things I perceive are only in my head.
But like Sir Frazer knew, things in your head can kill you just as well as can "real" things. The hypertension, the shallow breathing, the teeth-grating, the rush of chemicals - in short, the stress of a phobia - can kill you. The reaction is more dangerous than the trigger, as was the case with the "Spanish flu" epidemic of WWI. So what good is it to "face one's fears" when doing so is, physiologically, bad for you?
In any case, it's all just rambling. There's nothing I can do at this point except take a deep breath and a lorezipam.
Here's hoping that you'll hear from me again tomorrow.