A few years ago, at a bachelor party in Boone, North Carolina, a few of the attendees were discussing hangovers. The nameless guilt, vague sense of dread, and general uneasiness which are the wages of libational excess. A Scottish friend of mine (his nationality really isn’t important to the story, its important to him of course, just not really to this particular reflection, anyway…) stated that his uncle called this condition, “The Fear.”
I’ve never heard such an apt description. I’m not sure the nervous sense of lurking dread, of thinking back to night before and going over embarrassing details or statements made, could be expressed any better. And for two words totalling a marginal seven letters, its quite dramatic. The fear.