You might want to disown me right about now.

Everyone has at least one irrational fear. Even the most logical of people can be afraid of black cats and spilt salt, and Jack Bauer has probably been scared at least once after catching a glimpse of his kick-ass self in the mirror.

That being said, I still can't stop from cringing when I think about my own secret fears. Like a tornado ripping out the walls and ceiling of the bathroom while I'm showering.

One of those fears grows exponentially with each passing year, and it's the one I'll be facing head-on Thursday morning.

You see, I'm going to be twenty-two years old in two weeks, and I have never attended a funeral. Nobody close to me has ever died. Although I'm really grateful to have lived with so little grief in my life, I have this nagging feeling that it's just the result of some unfortunate glitch in the system. One day, the glitch will be fixed, and I will be standing among my loved ones as they all drop dead at the exact same moment.

This was all I could think about when one of my pastors called yesterday to ask me if I would play piano for a memorial service on Thursday. I heard myself accept the offer, and my mind was immediately flooded with questions. What will it be like? What do I say? How do I act? What do I wear? And then my brain made some sputtering noises and flickered a bit before shutting down completely.

Meanwhile, something keeps jabbing the side of my head, telling me that, while I'm showering in a tornado, Jack Bauer will come riding by on a giant black cat to kill my loved ones by spilling salt on their heads. So do me a favor, friends and family, and promise me you'll stay away from figments of my imagination, alright? Thanks.