I don’t do well with enclosed places.
I can’t even pinpoint some childhood trauma that might have caused it. I just know it’s there. I don’t even do well with onscreen portrayals of claustrophobic situations. It’s like there’s this gigantic jackbooted foot stepping on my chest, crushing the breath from my lungs. It’s a feeling that leaves me wanting to run screaming, arms flailing, into the light. Mostly, I can control it. At the worst, I can just turn off what I’m watching or turn my eyes away. It doesn’t keep me from enjoying things, but it certainly means it might take a little longer to get through it. Maybe that’s why it’s taken me over a year and a half to get through “The Descent”, but that’s a movie discussion for another time. Currently, the movie discussion at hand is “Buried.”