Fragment #9 - Oneirogmophobia

Oneirogmophobia is my favourite fear. I am looking through a list of phobias at the moment to help pass the time at three in the morning. This one word has almost managed to reduce me to hysterical laughter, rolling on the floor sides splitting and finding it hard to breathe. Oneirogmophobia is the fear of wet dreams. Yes reader, wet dreams. Can you think of anything more pointless than that? Who has this phobia? The only answer I can come up with is a really fucked up teenager. Imagine how bad it would be to have night terrors with a hard on at the same time. Is it the fear of the possibility of having one, say if they fall asleep in the classroom? - nasty. Or do they feel abject terror while in the throws so-to-speak with erotic nightmares? I would feel sorry for those people if I didn’t find the whole concept truly hilarious beyond measure. But then again I think those people may suffer from Erotophobia, the fear of sexual feelings.
Perhaps it is the fear of waking up and finding soiled sheets. But would that not be Blennophobia, the fear of slime?
Yes reader, I do know that I have reached a whole new low with this one. It is a bad thing for me to make fun of those with fears, especially those who have katagelophobia, fear of being ridiculed.
Here’s a pointless one for you: Kenophobia, the fear of empty rooms. Well call me pedantic but wouldn’t the fact that the person suffering from this phobia negate the whole empty room thing just by being there? Do they stand outside the door building up their courage only to find that the room isn’t empty because they are in it?
I actually feel sorry for those with more than one phobia, imagine having Optophobia, fear of opening ones eyes, and Nyctophobia, fear of the dark. Poor bastards.
And if I may say to all those out these who suffer from Logophobia (look it up), well done, you’re doing well.
I get up from the computer and saunter through to the kitchen, I still find myself dodging the assault course of detritus despite the fact it's all gone now. My sister has managed to make my flat... presentable. There are even cushions on the couch.
I get my irn bru out the fridge and pour myself a glass, some of the fizz manages to cover the worktop and you know what? I don't care.