The power went out last week, and someone got stuck in an elevator for an hour and a half.  AN HOUR AND A HALF.  That is my worst fear, ever.  Times infinity.  (OK, maybe not worst fear, all of my irrational fears are my worst fear.)

Since then, every time I get in the elevator it’s like I’m expecting my life to be over immediately.  Crashing, descending car SMASHING ME INTO MY DOOM at the bottom of the shaft.  And hopefully they’ll be able to salvage my wedding ring so Joey can wear it around his neck forever and remember how awesome I was.

GAH I’m freaking myself out.

All this to say, before I couldn’t do elevators.  Now I really, really can’t do elevators.

I plan my day around how many elevator rides I will or won’t have to have.  I’d go get a breath of fresh air, but that would require an elevator ride, now, wouldn’t it.  NEVER MIND.  Not worth the heart palpitations and panic attacks every time the elevator stops at a floor.  (Because you know it won’t start up again and there I will hang, in an elevator car, for eternity.)

You want to know something really sad?

Every time I get in the elevator, I have to go to the bathroom first.  Because, what if it stops and I get stuck there for hours?  With random people?  Maybe even guys?!  And if we’re stuck there for more than a few hours, I’ll probably really REALLY have to go to the bathroom.  So I’m just planning ahead so I can avoid making a Designated Corner in the elevator, in the event that I get stuck.

I wigged out so bad earlier today,  that I think I’ll be taking the stairs down for the foreseeable future.  It’s not worth a heart attack more than once a day.

Why, why, why, WHY can’t I be like everyone else?