Tick

tick. tick. tick. tick. tick.

I really hate clocks.

I was hypnotized when I was a teenager. I was desperate to remember the fuzzy details of a fatal accident I was in. There were gaps in my memory. And being a control freak, I needed to remember the horror. I thought that it would help alleviate my newfound fear of driving. Well, actually my newfound fear of dying while driving. I had seen death work his magic right before my eyes and I didn’t want to be his next client.

So my therapist thought that hypnotherapy would be helpful.

It wasn’t.

All it did was take me on an flying carpet adventure along a peaceful creek with a beautiful, white bird flying alongside me, over my left shoulder. Then my peaceful ride was interrupted by an annoying tick, tick, ticking. I awoke extremely agitated and went to find the tick-tock.

I went out of the room I was in, down the hall, around the corner, into another room that had a smaller room inside. The tick, tick was in that smaller room.

How or why I could hear it, I had no idea. The therapist couldn’t tell me either. Now I’m stuck with this aversion to ticking sounds.

I really, really hate clocks.