Porcelain and Glass is Not Pleasant...

I think it's time for us to get to know each other a little better. First order of business? 


I'm afraid of dolls.


No, you did not read that wrong. I'm not afraid of dogs, or dots, or doe. Dolls. Dolls.


Well, it's not exactly the doll that I'm afraid of. (Just like it's not the dark you're afraid of--it's what may be lurking in the shadows.) I'm afraid of the idea that they'll come alive and kill me. In my sleep. With their bare, evil, mocking porcelain hands. 


...maybe I read too much fiction.


I know it's an irrational fear. I'm pretty sure that my death certificate will never say "Death by Inanimate Object That Just Happened to Come Alive and Kill Her." (But you never know. They could be plotting to make it look like an accident.)


I'm pretty sure this fear came from my childhood (when does any phobia not?), when I read a book called Doll People. It's not a horror book, by any stretch of the word, so I don't know why it affected me the way that it did. But it's about dolls that come alive whenever humans aren't looking (and it's got a plot or whatever but who cares when there's the horror of dolls that are alive). And that just... unsettled me greatly. The idea that dolls--these inanimate objects, merely toys for my entertainment and things that I could control--could have lives of their own, running around and spying on me and I would never know it... well, it caused a great impact.


Am I still sounding sane to you?


Probably not. Just for the record, anyone who actually and truly knows me would never answer "yes" to that question.


But I digress.


Last night, my mother (who is aware of my fear and gets joy from it) thought it might be funny to mess with my head. We have lots of dolls, just laying around (much to my chagrin), and she propped one up in my bed. It was just--sitting there. Waiting for me. (Excuse me as I shudder.)


I was skipping--literally skipping--to my bedroom when I saw the porcelain mask of evil. I might've whimpered a bit. Or screamed. Whichever. Who's keeping track, anyway?


This is the second time it's happened. Needless to say, my mother is not getting a Mother's Day present this year. (Maybe some candles, though. Those seem like good, generic gifts. Plus, there's usually a sale at Wal-Mart.)


So. Yeah. Bottom line is: the quickest way to get a boot in your stomach is by handing me a doll. So, don't do it. Ever.


Oh, look! Question-answering time! 


If I ever saw a pig flying outside, Jae, the first thing I would do is stare uncomprehendingly at the soaring oinkers, thinking, but if pigs can fly, why can't I? And then I'd pout. Then, I would personally check myself into a mental hospital. Yup. 
I can honestly say I've never used the term "when pigs fly," so I'd have no promises to keep! I prefer things like "when balls don't roll" or "when dolls stop being scary as crap."


My question: If you had to choose to be one Greek god/goddess for your entire life--demigods like Heracles applicable, too--who would choose, and why?


P.S. No, I didn't spell "Heracles" wrong. "Hercules" is his Roman counterpart; "Heracles" is the Greek (and original) name. /trying to save myself from fact-spewing internet trolls/


So... yeah. This has been a post.