I have some irrational fears
But when those fears prove to be founded in life more substantial than paranoia... I handle it surprisingly well.
I thought, perhaps, I might become an inadvertent subject of an internet porn site. Now how might this happen? I thought. My instances of public nudity are fairly few. And most of them recent: this is an old fear. Where did it come from? Surely, not from those moments of impassioned abandon in scattered parking lots? I thought. Those are not very common, nor are they predictable.
It never occurred to me that the third floor was a suitable vantage point for wandering eyes. Well, to be honest, it did occur to me. But surely not from the third floor, with the windows at such an angle... in the daylight I never turn on my own lights. Surely the glare of sunlight from those glossy panes make them seem very mirrors to the outside world. At night, I'm very careful to turn the lights out before anything remotely revealing happens. Surely, I thought, surely this paranoia is ill-founded. Surely this irrational fear is not worth the effort of shutting and re-opening the blinds several times each day. I do love sunlight, and sometimes I'm in a rush. Five minutes to class time is not enough time to dress properly, make myself presentable AND close the blinds. Not enough time to make it to class at a reasonable moment.
Until I get a phone call. Apparently there is a potluck on the lawn beneath my window, at a nearby academic building. "I know you're home, I can see your window! Come down here right now! There's a potluck!"
Casual conversation. I glance up at my exposed window, dark now and impenetrable in the deep evening moonlight. Wow, you really can see into my window from here. The one spot I've neglected to notice, just below the shrouded veil of perfectly landscaped birch. How... I wonder if you can see in during the daylight. "Oh yes." Panic. "I was laying down on the grass here one day when you were changing. I saw your nipples."
Oh dear God.
You know how you walk into a room, and someone says hello, grins, and looks at you like "oh, if you only knew what I know now, things would never be the same"? Does anyone else ever get that? I've been getting that alot recently. In class. At the library. The coffee shop. Every moment of odd introductions and, "Hey, you remind me of my sister-in-law" or "I don't know you, but you're cute" and "I saw you the other day, and didn't say hi. I don't think you could see me" for the past four months are suddenly being recalled from that ambiguous file in my memory bank labeled "that was odd for some reason..." and reevaluated in a horrifying new light.
Back in the lawn, a handful of acquaintances, friends, and one distant ex lounging in the grass, huddled about a picnic table, I hear the conversation proceed unprovoked. "Yeah, just imagine how many people, how many strangers have walked by and seen you. People that would never admit to having seen you."
No, I'd rather not, really. Thanks so much. Your insight into the worse possible thing to ever say right now is amazing.
I'm in the library right now, so I'm not going to google image "open window naked girl" or "co-ed voyeurism" and search obsessively for some indication that I am insane. That there is no internet porn site with a section about me changing in the midmorning sunlight to prying eyes. I'm going to sit here and write an insightful and grade-salvaging essay on immigration in America and its connection to social justice and global crises. And not think about meeting people on the street who have secretly seen me naked on the internet. And possibly added me to their spank bank. And possibly are stalking me. And many other equally horrible and possible things.
oh, darn it all.
I thought, perhaps, I might become an inadvertent subject of an internet porn site. Now how might this happen? I thought. My instances of public nudity are fairly few. And most of them recent: this is an old fear. Where did it come from? Surely, not from those moments of impassioned abandon in scattered parking lots? I thought. Those are not very common, nor are they predictable.
It never occurred to me that the third floor was a suitable vantage point for wandering eyes. Well, to be honest, it did occur to me. But surely not from the third floor, with the windows at such an angle... in the daylight I never turn on my own lights. Surely the glare of sunlight from those glossy panes make them seem very mirrors to the outside world. At night, I'm very careful to turn the lights out before anything remotely revealing happens. Surely, I thought, surely this paranoia is ill-founded. Surely this irrational fear is not worth the effort of shutting and re-opening the blinds several times each day. I do love sunlight, and sometimes I'm in a rush. Five minutes to class time is not enough time to dress properly, make myself presentable AND close the blinds. Not enough time to make it to class at a reasonable moment.
Until I get a phone call. Apparently there is a potluck on the lawn beneath my window, at a nearby academic building. "I know you're home, I can see your window! Come down here right now! There's a potluck!"
Casual conversation. I glance up at my exposed window, dark now and impenetrable in the deep evening moonlight. Wow, you really can see into my window from here. The one spot I've neglected to notice, just below the shrouded veil of perfectly landscaped birch. How... I wonder if you can see in during the daylight. "Oh yes." Panic. "I was laying down on the grass here one day when you were changing. I saw your nipples."
Oh dear God.
You know how you walk into a room, and someone says hello, grins, and looks at you like "oh, if you only knew what I know now, things would never be the same"? Does anyone else ever get that? I've been getting that alot recently. In class. At the library. The coffee shop. Every moment of odd introductions and, "Hey, you remind me of my sister-in-law" or "I don't know you, but you're cute" and "I saw you the other day, and didn't say hi. I don't think you could see me" for the past four months are suddenly being recalled from that ambiguous file in my memory bank labeled "that was odd for some reason..." and reevaluated in a horrifying new light.
Back in the lawn, a handful of acquaintances, friends, and one distant ex lounging in the grass, huddled about a picnic table, I hear the conversation proceed unprovoked. "Yeah, just imagine how many people, how many strangers have walked by and seen you. People that would never admit to having seen you."
No, I'd rather not, really. Thanks so much. Your insight into the worse possible thing to ever say right now is amazing.
I'm in the library right now, so I'm not going to google image "open window naked girl" or "co-ed voyeurism" and search obsessively for some indication that I am insane. That there is no internet porn site with a section about me changing in the midmorning sunlight to prying eyes. I'm going to sit here and write an insightful and grade-salvaging essay on immigration in America and its connection to social justice and global crises. And not think about meeting people on the street who have secretly seen me naked on the internet. And possibly added me to their spank bank. And possibly are stalking me. And many other equally horrible and possible things.
oh, darn it all.