For as long as someone has felt afraid there’s an academic prepared to study, name and announce fears as a phobia. The outdoors presents endless possibilities of phobias, from Arachnophobia grabbing you by the throat whenever a Daddy Long Legs appears, to Ballistophobia, the life prolonging fear of bullets.

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The bravest souls take the time to tackle their phobia head on, grabbing that Potamophobia (fear of rivers) by the rapids and camp by a river. Most, however, just live with it never raising the courage to seek freedom from petrification.

I believe I have discovered the next big fear study. That’s right, I’m scared and I don’t know what it’s called because no doctor of fears has put pen to paper, getting to the bottom of my fear. Destined to wander between roadhouses, a prisoner of my ute cab, wrestling with the overwhelming anxiety I go through every time I buy a takeaway coffee. Always knowing that plastic lid is giving its all to escape the cardboard cup it’s forced to be a part of; encouraging the magma of hot coffee to warm my outsides instead of my insides. No matter how many times I tediously push every nanometer of the circumference of that lid, I know that the dissimilar mediums are not happy together.

There are others share who my apprehension, I witness them alongside me working the lid of their half strength skinny cappuccino on soy but still no one seeks to free me with a name. Join with me fellow travellers to work toward the day we can name the beast that accompanies us down the highway. I’m running a public competition to name our phobia and out the demon. Go to my Facebook page macca007 find my post and comment your suggestion. I share your pain, you’re not alone.

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