New Job, The Norovirus, and Being Emetophobic

I have a new job; something that is particularly uncomfortable for someone who obviously hates formalities as much as I do. (see first post) The worst part of this new job is not the fact that it is monotonous (I am so grateful to have a job. Even a monotonous one) and it isn't the people that I work with...It is that I seem to have started working in a public place, handling public materials, when there is some sort of Noro-type virus going around. You see, I am an Emetophobic. Emetophobia is a nasty fear in which the sufferer, namely me, has a paralyzing preoccupation and fear of anything having to do with vomit. It is also so taboo that when typed into the computer auto corrects into "homophobia" (which I certainly don't have.) I am in a constant state of panic. It feels like that scene in a horror movie when everyone has turned into a zombie and the protagonist is trapped behind a door, clinging to life with an ax and plotting her next move to keep from being infected. Yes. It is that intense. Now, factor in the fact that my entire day consists of handling 100's of books that have just been dropped into a box by every Tom, Dick, and Nancy "I-don't-wash-my-hands-after-I-poo," and you get me huddled in my bed at 12:26 a.m. on a work night writing a blog post to take my mind off of the terror.

I try to casually introduce the fact that I am an emetophobic into conversations with new friends and coworkers. I do this for two reasons- It lets them know why I sanitize my hands until they bleed (although I found out today that hand sanitizer does not kill Noroviruses...more reason to feel sheer terror) and scratch any area on my face with the inside of my shirt (most viruses enter your body via the orifices on your face), AND lets them know that if they ever feel the slightest need to be sick I will probably run screaming in horror and then ask them 500 questions (from a distance) in hopes that they will notice my nonchalance (yeah right) *face palm*

I have tried telling myself that it will not kill me and that I will feel better, but ultimately the only thing that I can think about is the fact that I WILL be sick before I am bettter, norovirus is practically the plague, and oh my lord kill me now! I think about the fact that my night will be sent shaking and popping a box of pepto bismol, but the infomercials will be fairly entertaining (I cannot tell you how many exercise I have nearly purchased. Who wouldn't want those abs?) and I can always make it through the next day on pure adrenaline from the frightful night before.

The bottom line is that I have a debilitating disorder, for which humor is the only thing that makes it bearable. Also, I know that I should be grow up and be an "adult" about the whole vomiting thing (if only it were that simple) and (I started something just to put words in parenthesis because it seems that this has been a theme for this entry) AND (that I just did it again). Oh well. Why be an adult when you can be me?

Formality

  Having grown up in an Irish-American family, I have always been a "meat and potatoes" kind of girl. I don't mean this in the literal sense. My experience, or at least with those whom have raised me, says that we are not a formal people. We are the kind of people who get drunk at a funeral because we want to celebrate the life of our beloved. This has a point. I promise.

Recently, I moved to Florida from Ohio. Florida is such a strange place. Florida is hot, sticky, sexy, and oh-so-frustrating! I have found it hard to meet new people in this "strange" new place. In Florida everyone is different; people are from all different states, ethnicities, and socioeconomic backgrounds. This MUST be why Florida is likened with paradise. I imagine heaven to be the same way ;) I, however, have always been timid and terrified of offending. I HATE FORMALITIES. I hate putting on the facade for the person that is lurking beneath, only so that I may fit in with what is socially acceptable. I hate being the face of normality when I am pretty much all but normal. I like to put on my Irish-American face; the face that I would equate with "It's seven-o-clock-in-the-morning-hungover-slept-in-my-make-up-why-are-you-knocking-on-my-door" kind of face. This way, people will know the worst of me and still keep coming back for more. Also, just with the mention of Irish-American and "It's seven-o-clock-in-the-morning-hungover-slept-in-my-make-up-why-are-you-knocking-on-my-door" in the same paragraph, I fear that I may  have just offended someone of Irish American decent that was not raised that way and may be reading this. See what I just did there? Yes. This is why I loathe the first few weeks of a friendship.

So, I promise that starting today, I will be that face that you would rather not see but still love anyway. I promise to blog the good, the bad, and the funny. I promise to try to make friends if you try to love the quirks about which I am writing.

 That my friends is part of being an adult. ;) (Also, Pog mo thoin...you might want to google it :D)