I made a list of everything I am afraid of. It took up two pages of college-ruled three-hole-punch paper. I wrote it out by hand. I used a pencil. I read it three times, then I crossed out the lines that said "afraid of spiders in shower" and "afraid of cockroaches in apartment" and "afraid of bugs in flour." I waited a few minutes, then I read it a fourth time and crossed out the lines that said "afraid my lousy posture will give me a disease" and "afraid my lousy posture has already given me a disease" and "afraid my lousy eating habits will give me a disease" and "afraid I will get disease." Now I had a list that was half a page, hand-written, on college ruled paper with three holes punched on the side of each sheet.

I took this list to a copy shop that was open all night. It was three in the morning. I copied the list once onto three different colors. Goldenrod looked the best and it reminded me of junior high. I didn't like junior high very much, but seeing my list on Goldenrod paper made me think that I did like junior high, and I'd just forgotten. I remembered liking gum erasers, anyway, and I was pretty good at geography. I read the list again, on Goldenrod, and crossed out the lines that said "afraid of dying too young" and "afraid of dying unexpectedly" and "afraid of dying too old." I thought that while I was crossing them out I might still be afraid of them, but that since I had never died before I was really being unfair, and it was better just to be open-minded about the idea.

On the walk home I stopped and crossed out "afraid I will never be loved." I used thick strokes and the side of a brick building to brace myself and a cab driver slowed, hoping for a fare. I waved the list at him and he drove away.

I got home around four-thirty. There was a spider in the shower and thought about adding "afraid of spiders in the shower" back to the list, only I wasn't really afraid of the spider, I was just startled, and a little annoyed. Sometimes these things seem like fear. I had to be careful. I looked at the list. "Afraid that I am stupid," it said, and "Afraid that no one notices." Everything else had been crossed out. I uncapped a pen. If I crossed them out, I thought, I would no longer be afraid of anything. I would be startled and annoyed sometimes, but never frightened.

Then I fell asleep like that, with the pen uncapped.

In the morning, things seem better. I had a list under my hand and my mouth was dry from snoring. My roommate was making batter.

"I found something in the flour," she said. "A bug or something. I can't believe that still happens. Do we have a sifter?"

The pen was still uncapped. I looked at my list. I circled "afraid of bugs in flour." Then I circled "afraid of dying young." Then I circled "afraid that I am stupid," even though I had never crossed it out. My roommate was trying to sift flour with a pasta strainer. I circled everything on the list.

"I'm afraid of a lot of things," I said to my roommate.

"Me too," she said. "Like flying in bad weather."

I hadn't thought of that. I added it to the list. There wasn't any room on the front of the Goldenrod paper, so I wrote it on the back. The list was now very long and very messy. All the words made sense. I put the list on the refrigerator. My roommate cracked an egg on the side of a bowl. I turned back to the list and wrote "afraid of food poisoning."

The list was the brightest thing on the refrigerator, and it felt good to read, and better to understand.