Anakin Reese Conn- Assignment 8

Fears: No words come to mind, but instead screaming.  Sometimes it gets louder and I have to day dream until it goes away.  It hides inside of walls, just out of sight, sometimes in the spaces between furniture, which is why most of you don't like sitting between couch seats, same feeling.  Okay I regret thinking about it at 2 AM, but I'll descri- no I won't, it's at my door, if I lock it, it will crawl under the door crack when I'm typing and hide under my desk, waiting for a moment when I'm not looking to-never mind.  Describing it will.  No, I'm stopping here.  No more.  The more I think about it, the worse it gets.  This is why I hate being creative, it always ends with.  End.
Annoyances: Breathing, blinking, sleeping, eating, swallowing, hearing others breath, looking at other people, opinions, any light that isn't white or blue, loud untraceable ringing noises on occasion, keeping secrets, revealing that I keep secrets, later revealing that the secrets were a joke, not revealing that I wasn't lying, revealing that this is another inside joke, people being confused when I laugh at things they can't understand, concept of free will, concept of there being no free will, concept the believing that you have free will is an example of a lack of free will, when the axes stop working, when someone kills you and you become them, the way money smells, green, lack of creativity, whatever that thing Kanye West does in all his tweets with the ... thing, go ahead and throw Kanye West in this basket, Watching Paint Dry: The Game is beta-key only access, when some idiot won't shut up about his problems annoyances.
Accomplishments: Soon.  What did you expect?  That I'm done waiting yet?
Confusions: Magnets.
Sorrows: My friends are still waiting.
Dreams: Always.
Idiosyncrasies: Dark and cold places make me happy.
Risks: Dying.  Not a big deal.  Why aren't I dead yet?  Why so much waiting?
Beloved Possession: Too beloved for you to possess knowledge of.
Problems: Myself.

Idiosyncrasies:
I have problems with being creative.  Whenever I think about any form of creating, I think about something that intimidates me, makes me feel more threatened and uncomfortable than anything I've ever experienced.  It doesn't have a name.  It doesn't have a specific form either.  It makes noises that range from nothing to breathing or the sound of floorboards creaking.  It isn't fast, it's either standing in plain sight, hiding, or moving at a slow rate towards me.  Its height ranges from the height of a shin to the just below the height of my house's ceiling, 14 feet.  It resembles a person, but not really, similar to how you see faces in pieces of wood or paint mistakes.  It also has a quality of lacking what makes a face look real, a quality that I can't put into words.  The face looks dead, as in nothing is moving, nor is anything missing, except for tissue connecting the lower jaw to the upper jaw.  The eyes are a non-reflective black, and the mouth hangs freely open, revealing a set of consistently symmetrical, but inconsistently present teeth.  It always has long hair and disproportionate limbs.
I never see it real life, just in dreams that last too long, and its skin color is bright white.
(Don't take any of this seriously, I made this up so that I don't have to think about what I'm really afraid of.)