When chatty is too chatty

I got an email from my professor entitled "A letter to pretty much everyone I know". It was a holiday greeting of sorts. I don't know if she intended to send it to students or if she simply sent it to her whole email list.

It was 'family newsletter' style, updating people on her life, what she is doing now, etc. Oh, and that she is pregnant! Yay.

Is that too personal to be telling students? She actually told me already, we were walking to the subway together after class and she said she hates taking the subway, she used to bike to school but she stopped now because she is pregnant, even if that is just an excuse.

When I say pregnant I mean I can barely tell. She sits at her desk most of the class but I have seen her standing up and I don't recall seeing a baby bump. (Although I'm not the greatest judge, in high school there were teachers like in their 5th month and girls would be whispering about it and I would be like, what, she's pregnant? Huh.)

She is a very friendly teacher and the class is small and 'intimate', but I still think a line should be drawn and personal information such as having a baby need not be shared.

Oh, so on the show 'The Biggest Loser' the trainer Bob 'came out' as being gay, he was trying to encourage a contestant to 'come out' to his parents. I saw an article how this is the first time that Bob was open about his gayness. But c'mon, we all knew already. So is he now gay because he said it publicly, or was he gay all along? But if someone called him gay before he 'came out', could he sue for defamation of character? Is that a real thing?

Does all personal information have to be shared publicly? 

What I'm thankful for

It's quiet in the apartment as I watch my menorah keep an eye on it while watching a show on my laptop and I am thankful for the quiet. It is hard living with other people and coming home after a hard day of work and being surrounded by noise, and being asked how my day is when I don't care to talk about it.

But at the same time I am thankful that I have people in my life who ask me about my day.

I am thankful for my free time, which is rare these days. Between work and school I am pretty busy and have very few hours that I can just relax.

I get a call from a friend asking if I can come over and babysit now. She took a gamble that I wouldn't be in school and she got lucky. It is cold and rainy out and the thought of leaving the house on my free night is not welcoming. But I always tell her "call me if you need me" and I am always busy when she does, so I go. And I am thankful for the three gorgeous cuties who keep me company when they are supposed to be sleeping. The 3 year old tells me about the menorah he made, and squeezing 'shemen zayis' into his menorah and I want to pinch his cheeks. I say I'll tell them one bedtime story and I struggle to remember the story of Chanukah, something about Antiachus the wicked king, he did to the Jews a terrible thing, and besides he was so mean....- hey it's hard to forget that song. But the kids help fill in the blanks and we get through the story just fine. Then I tell them it's time to sleep.

I am thankful that I have a job where I feel appreciated necessary for the cause and I feel accomplished (when I don't want to strangle someone). I like that I have my work 'people' and work jokes and am a part of it.

I am thankful that I get to leave work at work and go home at the end of the day and not think about it.

We take so many things for granted, like food and shelter and money. I can't imagine my life any other way, neither richer nor poorer. I have come to accept that what I have is mine and I achieved it, I earned it. But it can be taken away in a second.

I am thankful that I feel content and grounded in life, that I am proud of what I have done and where I am heading. I am proud of what I left behind, it is great to be able to recognize that at any given moment in life, you are where you were meant to be.

Happy first night of Chanukah. Have a donut!

Silence

Chance.

John Cage's 4'33”. 

At first I thought it was the dumbest thing I ever heard, to take silence and call it music. 

How can you say that someone “composed” silence, or that they own it? 

It looks really dumb seeing a guy sitting there and not playing the piano for 4 minutes and 33 seconds. 

But truly, it is brilliant. It makes one question, what is music really? 

Is music the beautiful sounds of flutes and violins played for people who want to enjoy the music or dance to it? 

Is music the loud blaring pop that we listen to today? 

Or perhaps the jazz that was so popular, with all the instruments that came with it. 

Methods of chance are weird, make up strange sounds, take objects that we would not normally think of as instruments and use them to compose what can only be referred to as noise and that I would ask someone, no insist that they turn it off. 

It is torturous to listen to it and think thatanyone can possibly call that music. 

But to think that someone could block out a portion of silence and call it music, learn to listen to the sounds, a portion of time can never be duplicated, the idea of it is brilliant. 

Even if I would never choose to listen to it.

Scattered Pieces

There was money on the floor and no one was picking it up.

They didn't seem to realize that those tiny greenish scraps of paper littering the floor was a dollar bill torn into many pieces.

Who would do that?

Scattered forever never to be reunited.

Or perhaps swept up and thrown away.

21 pieces. All over.

There is George Washington's face.

You just stepped on him.

Clever, or stupid?

A game?

A message?

Were 'they' waiting and watching for someone to pick up the pieces and put the puzzle together?

But I can see it's just one dollar.

So really, is it worth it?

What Now

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Someone left the tap on again. I watch it and contemplate getting up to shut it off.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

I have an essay due tomorrow. Haven't yet started it.

Drip. Drip.

Essay will not write itself.

I just sit and stare and listen to the sounds around me, try to hear the silence in the music, and wait for someone to walk by and shut it off.

I stand in the supermarket isle, my basket too heavy to hold.

I leave it there on the floor and walk up and down the isle, looking for a certain type of chips that I can't seem to find.

Get to the end of the isle and turn around and keep looking. Nothing.

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

The sink is leaking harder now.

I can't find the chips. Where are the chips?

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

Why won't it stop.

I sit outside on the steps eating licorice. Close my eyes and hope no one will find me here.

Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.Drip.

I found the chips. They are long gone now.

The tap is still dripping. It won't stop.

It's a steady stream. 

I can't seem to move.

Someone walks by. I ask her to shut off the tap.

The dripping stops.

Two minutes later someone leaves the tap on again.

I can't seem to win.

Wish I knew what to do next.

Remember, Remember, the 5th of November....

Happy 5 years of blogging!

Today also marks one year from the day that I started working at my current job. Big accomplishment for me, considering I could never imagine myself committing to one job for more than a few months.

I am older and wiser now, and more prepared to take on the world. I hope that this coming year will enable me to continuing growing and analyzing the world around me, in an effort to understand it. I hope that I can add a new perspective, and that people will gain something from seeing the world through my oddly shaped glasses.

Have a cupcake in my honor.

If I went trick-or-treating

"Did you go trick-or-treating tonight?"

I look around in confusion. Who is she talking to? She repeats the question again, looking at me.

"Did you go trick-or-treating tonight?"

I say "hahaha, no, I'm actually coming from-"

She points to my red tote bag, which is holding my books from school. Says, "I thought, wow that's a lot of candy."

I smile and ask them how their trick-or-treating is going, did they get a lot of candy, I comment on their costumes and say how cute. I wish them luck in their candy gathering and tell them that I saw a lot of litter on the subway from candy wrappers. We wish each other a good night and part ways.

If I went trick-or-treating would I egg them if no treats appeared? Would I go from door to door and use that opportunity to tout my religion? In exchange for a treat, tell them about G-d?

I'd say, the real treat would be if we could all stop fighting, and live in peace and harmony.

I'd say, Obama's just a name and in a few years he will move out of the White House, and won't you just feel foolish for saying such nasty baseless things about him.

I'd say all these heartless murders are killing us, and there is an autistic child that went missing a few weeks ago, and we may never see him again. I see his picture everywhere and I wonder if he is lost somewhere in the subway tunnels where no one will find him. I think about his parents waiting at home for a call, to hear news good or bad and all they want is for their child to come home. And that little boy is not going trick-or-treating tonight.

I'd say we are separated by race and religion, by political standing and allegiances to teams that play games that mean nothing at all. Sports that waste millions of dollars yearly so fans can stand 3 deep at a bar and scream at the television screen, as if they could decide the fate of other humans. But you and I we share this world, we share the air we breath. We are all humans, people just trying to live our lives.

I'd say wouldn't it be nice to turn on the news for once and not hear about people dying, prisoners escaping, government officials being arrested for corruption, missiles falling in Syria and people pointing fingers and always trying to place the blame on anyone else.

I'd say aren't you scared to let your child leave the house dressed in a costume or a mask, looking like all the other bedecked children tonight and approach a stranger's house, many strangers' houses and ask for candy, are you not afraid for your child's safety.

If I went trick-or-treating I'd give out candy to all the kids, even the ones who came back for seconds, knowing that maybe their moms or dads are too poor to buy candy and tonight they want to feel just like everyone else. I'd make sure that they throw their wrappers in the garbage and not litter them on the subway floors and benches, because after all, that may be someone's bed tonight.

I think of all the people coming in contact with each other, strangers with flitting passing interactions, they laugh and talk and are emboldened by their disguises. They swarm the streets and subway cars in groups, hoping to get lucky tonight. Tomorrow will be back to school and work, if they wore a mask tomorrow they may get arrested for suspicious activity, we are taught to be scared of people in masks and hoods and disguises, but tonight, they blend right in.

Think of how much each person has to share with the world, if everyone dropped advice into these brightly colored trick-or-treating baskets instead of the poison we call candy, the poison that dentists love and parents hate, the poison that guilts people every day into dieting, if we forgo that poison for snippets of love and goodwill we may all be that much healthier and wiser.

I walked by a store tonight that had a sign in the window that announced "NO candy, only stickers", and I wondered which child was dumb enough to enter just to get a sticker, when everyone else was offering free candy.

If I went trick-or-treating I would say, "Sorry, NO candy, but I do have advice, I have life experience, I have insights and opinions, I have a unique outlook on life that is sure to be different than yours, I have happiness and sadness and stories, and love, I have inspiration that is sure to last way longer than that piece of candy that you stuffed in your mouth, or the one you left behind on the subway, deeming it unfit for your possession.

If I went trick-or-treating I would neither trick nor treat, I would not dress up in disguise. I would go out as myself, with all my flaws and all my attributes, I would share what only I can give and show people what they have been missing.

I would be ME, and hope that the world accepts me for who I am.

The Giraffe Challenge

One friend changes her profile picture to a giraffe, and I think "huh".
Two friends: Okay, what's up with this?

After a little digging, this is what I found: 
There is a riddle going around Facebook. If you get the answer right, nothing happens. If you get the answer wrong, you must change your profile picture to a giraffe for 3 days.

The riddle goes like this: "3:00 am, the doorbell rings and you wake up. Unexpected visitors, It's your parents and they are there for breakfast. You have strawberry jam, honey, wine, bread and cheese. What is the first thing you open?"

Really, my opinion of humanity is falling lower and lower.

If you feel like trying to solve the riddle, try your hand at the challenge here: http://thegreatgiraffechallenge.com/.

In the end, it really just comes down to: Do we have time for all this stupidity?

We Fought

In winter we fought, we fought in summer, and spring. Throughout the years we fought. We fought by parties and by weddings, we fought in company and alone. We fought on the phone and in parks, in restaurants and in malls. We fought over a $50 bill in the ocean, we fought over spots at the table, we fought for attention. We fought over shoes, and toys, we fought over books and computer time. We fought over looks, we fought with words, we fought with knives. You left and we fought, I came back and we fought, we fought over cars, and boys, we fought in old houses and new ones. We fought on buses, we fought in different cities, we fought when we were together, we fought less when we were apart. We fought over food, and jobs. In frizzy hair we fought, sleek and straight we fought. We fought in school and at home, we fought over rooms and beds, we fought with names, we fought with chairs. We fought over remotes, we fought over clothes, we fought with faces and gestures. You left me at home and we fought. They made you take me with you and we fought. We fought over friends, we fought over makeup and perfume.

 

We fought sadness, we fought pain. We fought insecurities, we fought weight, we fought ugly, we fought titles, we fought mean names. We fought ourselves. We fought the haters, we fought the enemies, we fought the losers and the weirdos, we fought the intrusions, we fought the uproots, we fought change, we fought life, we fought depression, we fought school, we fought society.

We fought, we fought, we fought.

You fought and I didn't know. You smiled and you fought, you gave presents and you fought, you shopped and you fought, you ate and you fought. You went on trips and you fought. You fought in the house and outside. You fought in company and alone. You fought and no one knew. 

You fought and for once we didn't fight.

Unsettled

Freeze.

You know you should say something but you can't make any words come out of your mouth.

So you sit in silence, and the seconds stretch.

You know the person on the other end of the line will say "are you still there?".

You have a choice, to pretend that you got cut off and to hang up the phone.

Which won't undo anything nor unsay what was said.

Or you could react.

So you say, "I don't really know what to say".

And that is all. That is how you feel. You know it doesn't involve you, it doesn't much affect you, life will move on and things will keep changing and spinning and happening on their own.

No one is waiting for your big reaction, no one is asking you to be dramatic or emotional or say what you feel, cuz really, it's not about you.

You want to just say, "uhu okay that's nice, thanks, bye" and hang up.

You want to rehash what was said over and over again until you understand it, and give your opinion on it, and make sense of it, and try to change it.

Change it. Undo it. Make it like it never happened. If we could turn back the clocks, would that make things right?

But no one is asking you, nobody cares what you have to say.

And it doesn't matter really, does it.

Usually, you can describe how you are feeling. But sometimes, there is really nothing to say.

You kind of feel nothing at all. And that makes you feel weird.

How can one describe nothing?

Devoid.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

I feel nothing.

And what does that say about me, really?

Forced Company

Friday afternoon, I still did not have a place to eat for the Friday night meal. My mother said, 'go to your brother!', but I go to him way too often, and I found out that he had gone away for Shabbos. My friend invited me to go with her to some post-sem single girls meal, and I was reluctant, thinking it would be awkward, and that I would not have anything in common with these girls other than that we were all single. I didn't enjoy the thought of being lumped into a group simply because we all shared the same 'single' status. Why don't they make a group for artists, or writers, or people who share the same interests? My whole life does not revolve around my singlehood, nor does it define me.

After expressing my opinion and discomfort at the thought of this meal, I reluctantly agreed to go, because my friend is rarely ever in town, it would be nice to spend time with her, and well, why not.

We went to shul first, which was nice, and the lady in charge made me feel welcome. She is also my high school principal's mother, they look so much alike, and she brought back warm memories. After shul, we relocated to the room where the meal would take place, and then I started to get nervous. There were so many more girls than I expected, my friend and I could not find two seats next to each other, she was not agreeable with my idea that we ask two girls to move over so we could sit together, so I grumbled about sitting by myself next to strangers, and thought about going home, to my familiar warm apartment with no awkward social gatherings.

Then the meal started, and the girl next to me started talking to me, and I surprisingly had a very pleasant time. She was refreshing, similar to me in some ways, and we found what to talk about. Throughout the meal the girls sang songs, and my new friend and I sang a different song than everyone else, because we both just liked that song better. I helped serve food, and clear the table, I saw familiar faces of girls I met before, and I told the friend I had come with that it was okay that she abandoned me because I made a new best friend. She insisted that she did not abandon me.

The meal was arranged by a program that is geared towards post-sem single girls, and they want Friday night meals to be a regular thing, maybe once a month. The woman in charge said they are in the process of building a lounge, they envision it to be a place for girls to come and hang out, learn with each other, or just have fun. They also want to have programs, melava malkas, and other activities.

While the idea does sound very nice, and it is great that someone is taking charge and filling a need in the community, the thought of being part of a 'singles club' does still make me uncomfortable, mostly because I'd rather not be a part of it for logistical reasons. And also, joining feels like if I label myself as a 'post-sem single girl', that is what I will be forever. Silly, I know. But then, fears usually are baseless.

I didn't expect to have a nice time, and I did. And that is rare. So thank you to said friend for bringing me along.

Despicable Me

I hated those people, the manipulative ones, the ones who try to get there way 'just cuz', who push others out of the way and say things like, 'I don't really need it, I just want to stick it to them'. It makes me cringe.

I hate those people, the ones who call me 'liar' on the phone when I am just trying to do my job, and accuse me of trying to screw them over, and threaten lots of things if they don't get what they want.

I hate those people, the ones who refuse to pay for a service because one little thing was messed up, and I just keep thinking how dishonest that is, and it bothers me.

And yet I understand them, the hapless helpless feeling of what now? I trust someone, I trusted you to come through and you didn't and now what am I supposed to do about it?

So I basically called them a liar, and threatened them, and told them "I know what I'm talking about, so don't try to pull the wool over my eyes".

And then they came through in the end. And more than that, they offered me compensation to better 'satisfy' me. Now I feel ashamed, like how could I have stooped so low and become those people I hate?

Wake up on a Saturday night

It's Saturday night and to some people that means putting on their best glitz or glam outfit, lots of makeup, and going out on the town, trying to meet people, mix and mingle, find something to do, go where it's 'happening'.

It's 7:30 and I have nothing to do. No, I have an essay to write but I don't want to. I don't have school tomorrow so I should be out there with the best of them, doing something, anything but laying here bored out of my mind.

I don't have any good books to read. I don't have any movies I feel like watching. I think of getting dressed and going out, but then it's 10:00 and I haven't done anything and now it's too late.

And still I sit here, laptop sleeping, music playing on the radio, and I feel bored. Restless. I want to do something but have nothing to do.

I think the correct term would be 'Bla'. As per thefreedictionary.com: blahs A general feeling of discomfort, dissatisfaction, or depression.

Okay, so I decide to draw. And I can't think of what to draw so I draw charcoal people that don't really look like people but kind of do. I think of psychologists and how they have young kids draw pictures because they can't accurately express their feelings. And I look at my charcoal sort-of people and think about what I'm trying to say.

Then I lay on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Then I call my mom. Then I hear her talk for ten minutes about a foreign film she saw with my father that she liked, it was in French with English subtitles, and she thought I would like it. I tune her out and think, sometimes you don't even hear what they are saying, it is just nice to hear their voice.

Then I hang up with her and think about watching a French movie with English subtitles, and think about getting dressed up and going out, and think about having someone to go out and do something with, and think about all the people currently out and having fun, or pretending to have fun, or having a horrible time but not wanting to go home because then their life would be really sad and depressing, so they go out and pretend to be full of life and exciting like everyone else but really being boring and depressing and wanting to go home, and thinking about how nice it is that I can stay home and not feel like I'm missing out on some big party scene, and then I listen to a Hilary Duff song that I heard on the radio years ago when I wasn't supposed to listen to the radio but I did so secretly until my sister caught me and told my mother, but now I can do whatever I want and the song is about going out on a Saturday night and I wonder if she actually wants to go out on a Saturday night or maybe they just told her that is what she has to sing about so she did what she had to for her career.

So I listen to it about 7 or 8 times and then write the world's longest run-on sentence just for fun.

Time to go to sleep. Happy Sunday.

Dreams

Did you ever wake up from a dream ad have that feeling that something good happened, but you can't remember it?

And then you do, it is a warm fuzzy memory from dreamland, an occurrence that never really happened, and yet you remember it as if it did.

You play it over and over in your mind, wishing you could go back to sleep and return to that dream, hit play and see what will happen next. But alas, we have no control in dreamland.

You replay the details again and again, bothering it like a loose tooth, until you are not even sure what you dreamed.

After many times of thinking about it, it begins to fade, until the warm fuzzy feeling goes away, and you realize that it was only just a dream.

But you want so badly for it to be real. 

Worldly Experience

There was a guy who declined to date me for the reason being that he didn't think I was 'worldly' enough. He has since married a girl from South Africa. I guess living in another country could make one 'worldly'.

What does being worldly even mean? Does it mean you have to travel to many countries, be cultural, know current events, be involved in politics? Does it mean anything or is it just a pretty way of saying nothing?

A person can have a more extensive life experience staying in one city his whole life, than someone who has traveled the whole globe. Experience comes from what you know, how you perceive the world, how you think, how you act upon what you know.

People have book smarts and people have street smarts and people have no smarts at all.

What makes one a worldly person?

The B---- who stole my day

I don't hate all people, just some people. And the some people that I hate, it is usually because they don't respond to me in the way I had expected them to. And I don't adapt very easily.

Building on my last post, the girl who I will now forever remember as "The B---- who stole my day", is at it again.

I emailed her being that not only did she hand in her story on my day but to top it off she didn't even print out enough copies. So I messaged her to say, in the nicest way, "hey B----- who stole my day, please send me your story. Oh, and by the way, not cool what you did."

In my exact words:

"It seems there was some confusion, as you switched your workshop date with mine without letting me know, being that I missed two classes. I stayed up late finishing my story only to find out that it is now due in three weeks. As you can imagine, that was a bit distressing for me. There is nothing you can do about it now, but it would have been nice if you tried to get in contact with me, send me an email or ask the professor to let me know ahead of time. I would have had no problem switching with you and having extra time to work on my story, had you asked me. In general, that is the decent thing to do."


Me thinking that she would be all nice and apologetic and I would be all forgiving, like oh don't worry about it.


Her response:

"I'm sorry that you felt rushed without the knowledge that you didn't have to have your piece ready, but I can assure you that I had no idea that there was anything to inform you about.
I had an issue with my workshop date and asked the professor if she could switch my date and she told me that she would be more than happy to bump up my date earlier. At no point did she tell me that I would be swapping dates with you or that I should inform you about it. I was under the impression I was being moved into a free slot. I would think it would be the responsibility of the professor to inform her students of a swap or at least provide one student with the other's contact info.
The decent thing to do would be to not make assumptions about a situation because, like you stated, you were absent and therefore weren't there when this happened. "

(When I told the professor, she said she had assumed that this girl had worked it out with me. There is way too much assuming going on.)

 Thanks, B-----.

I noticed she was wearing a magen david necklace. Now I feel like saying, hey while I was out celebrating our holiday, where were you??

I so want to tell her that her story sucks, but she would probably just find a way to turn it around on me. And the worst part it, based on the first few sentences, she is a decent writer. Which makes me hate her even more.

Now do you understand?

Fiction writing

I'm taking a fiction writing course at school. I wanted to see if it is something I would be interested in.

I learned that it is not. I decided that I either have no imagination or it is somewhere in there so deep that I can't find it.

Every time I sit down to write a story, I second guess myself. Is it stupid, will anyone like it? Didn't I just read a book with the exact same storyline?

Every idea I come up with seems too cliche, done before, tired, or from a book I just read. Or I stress and think, will it suck, will people hate it?

I get myself so worked up that I can't even write the first line. My mother told me that I am thinking too much, that I should just start writing and forget about all that stuff. I told her that I may need something to 'relax' me first, so she told me to have a drink. (Yes, my mother suggested that I drink.)

So I stressed and stressed and managed to write a story that seems decent enough, and it was due today because each student has a scheduled day that they have to hand in their story to be workshopped. At 2 am I finished, and I went to check the list of students to see how many copies I needed to print.

Then I realized that my name was moved to the 24th. So basically, no one told me that I was switched. I missed 2 classes because of Sukkos. My teacher replied and said that a girl asked to switch with me because she would not be there on the day hers is due. My teacher just assumed that she had asked me so the switch was made without telling me. In her words, "we've made changes. People joined the class, things evolved." Thanks lady. While things were 'evolving', I was celebrating my holiday.

My story is done a few weeks early. But that will just give me extra time to stress about it, revise it, scrap it, hate it, love it, all or none of the above.

If you are interested in reading the story, feel free to email me. I chose not to post it here because this is not a fiction blog.

Bystander effect

When you see a stranger in distress, do you run towards them or away?

The bystander affect is an interesting phenomenon whereby many people witness an event happening, such as a mugging, an attack, etc. But the more people that are in the crowd, the less likely it is that any one of them will run to help, or to call 911, being that everyone thinks that someone else will do it.

A famous story used to illustrate this effect is the Murder of Kitty Genovese. A woman who was murdered outside her home, and neighbors heard her screaming and did not go to help.

It is unfortunate, but pretty common.


Also it's natural to not want to get involved, especially if there's a possibility of personal harm.

But what if you needed help and everyone stood and stared and said, hey anyone got a light?

If you see something, say something. Do something.

American Haiku

He browsed a newspaper left behind.
How many hands held it today?

                                                    June 5, 2013, #2 train
            * * * * *

If we all shut the tap tightly,
we'd have more water in the world.

                                                June 5, 2013

            * * * * *

He dropped his ID card
and I ran after him shouting "excuse me!".

                                              June 17, 2013, College Campus

           * * * * *

Zooming around on office chairs is fun
when the boss is not around.

                                           June 18, 2013, The Office

Fear

Fear is irrational and stupid.

Tell that to the trillions of people who suffer from stupid and irrational fears. And the list literally goes on and on: The phobia list.

I thought my 'fear' was made up, but apparently it is real: Graphophobia- Fear of writing or handwriting. I don't have a fear of writing so much that I have a fear of sucking, or of ridicule. I just have to write a short story for school. But what if it comes out horrible?

Ah, there's a word for that too:
Katagelophobia- Fear of ridicule.

Some are especially noteworthy: Kleptophobia- Fear of stealing.
So like, don't steal.

LOL: Syngenesophobia- Fear of relatives. 

Chaetophobia- Fear of hair. (Like, even on your head?)
 Phalacrophobia- Fear of becoming bald.

Cenophobia or Centophobia- Fear of new things or ideas. (ME!)
  
I think if I keep reading and identifying with this list I will become insane.

And there it is: Agateophobia- Fear of insanity.

Cibophobia- Fear of food.(Sitophobia, Sitiophobia) (Do you starve?)

Chirophobia- Fear of hands.

Macrophobia- Fear of long waits. (Most people, everywhere.)

Hmmmm... Papaphobia- Fear of the Pope.

Yup, Xenophobia- Fear of strangers or foreigners.

Anthropophobia- Fear of people or society.
Sociophobia- Fear of society or people in general.

Oh so that's what my problem is:  Sophophobia- Fear of learning.

Bromidrosiphobia or Bromidrophobia- Fear of body smells. (I think we all suffer from that)

Agoraphobia- Fear of open spaces or of being in crowded, public places like markets. Fear of leaving a safe place.

I searched 'fear of babies'. No such thing.

Made the list:  Theophobia- Fear of gods or religion.

BEST. ONE. EVER:
Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia- Fear of the number 666.

Okay seriously, if you need a laugh check out The List 

I need to go to sleep.

Oh no:

Hypnophobia- Fear of sleep or of being hypnotized.
Somniphobia- Fear of sleep.

Noctiphobia- Fear of the night.    

Clinophobia- Fear of going to bed.

I could just go on and on.....