I’m having an afternoon visit with a new friend. What if I say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing or spill my wine or break her great grandmother’s priceless urn and scatter her ashes over her expensive Persian rug. I have no idea if she has a Persian rug or her great grandmother’s ashes in an expensive rug but I’m currently devoting time to worrying about it.
See, I’m good at worrying. I really can take a little thing and make it into hours of angst and anguish. I’ve tried all things to calm the crazy down. I’ve meditated – which is just more quite time to let the mental carnival go wild. I’ve tried coming up with solutions for all my ‘What if…’ scenarios. I’ve tried writing them down so the worry is out of my head and on paper but… nothing works. In fact, the only thing that seems to calm me is to shave my head – which is not practical at all times. So, welcome to my crazy train. Grab a seat near the window and settle in for a brief look at the wackiness in my head - At the flea market a few weeks ago, I was bit by something on my arm. Husband said I’m never to say ‘bit’ and ‘flea’ in the same sentence but he’s a wack-a-doodle. And it wasn’t a flea. It didn’t itch. It hurt. A lot. Like, a really bad bruise under the skin, hurt. And it still doesn’t itch. It still hurts. But now, there’s a hard little lump that hurts when I poke at it. Like I’m pretty sure I have a large spiders nest IN my arm cooking a family of baby spiders that will pop out of my skin in the middle of the night and proceed to swarm my body and the bed. This morning, when Husband was out of the room for 10minutes, Joseph and Tigger the Dog took this perfectly good dog bed, shredded it and strewed its insides all over the room. What if when we’re not looking, Joseph or Tigger the Dog decide to see what is inside Pepper’s wound? I don’t think I could handle coming into a room covered in Pepper’s innards. I might have to move. What if Donald trump does actually become president. And the USA really becomes more Us vs. Them than it already is right now and we end up in a war with the rest of the world and– I can’t even finish the thought. I’m hyperventilating and the world is slowly going dark. My doc said to keep my heart active but I don’t think that’s what he meant. Which brings me to my heart, what if, when they did my EKG and my ultrasound and said that things were okay, they were lying and all it’s going to take to send me into cardiac arrest is one big scare. Or a laughing fit over Joseph shaking himself silly? Or that final bowl of chips and chocolate? And then, when I’m lying dead or dying on the floor, what if the dogs decide to eat me? I’ve seen it happen on NCIS and CSI and Criminal Minds and Bones, that animal ravaged body that’s unrecognizable and oozing. That’s not going to feel good. And then, what if I don’t die but I’m in a bloody coma when the forensic team is in the house looking for clues to my battered body’s mauling, what if they are going through all my stuff and find something embarrassing. I still have, somewhere, the candy bikini I bought for my first valentines day with Husband as a joke. That is a twelve years old candy bikini that’s never been worn – or should that be ‘used’. Not sure what’s worse. What if they find that vile of sperm (!!! LONG STORY) my boyfriend sent me many years ago? I’m pretty sure I tossed it long ago but what if I didn’t. What if it’s tucked in the back of some box in the closet and then Old Boyfriend gets questioned and Husband starts wondering why I kept it and won’t believe me when I tell him that I didn’t think I had and he divorces me and I have to heal my broken dog-chewed body alone… What if I never find the special thing that makes work feel like fun. What if Confucius was lying to us and there is no such thing as ‘Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life.’ What if I’m just piece-mealing my days with this and that because I can’t find my special purpose that makes me bounce out of bed in the mornings? Or what if I found it but didn’t see it because I was so worried about life or love or money or whatever? What if Husband dies and I have to figure out what to do with his stuff. Like find a buyer for those damn microphones he keeps blathering on about. And I have sort through all that stuff he cannot throw away but is really crap but what if it’s not crap and I should keep it or find someone who really wants the rubber thingumabob that goes to the electronic thing that I don’t know how to work? I don’t even know what he’s done to make the TV work. And worse, if he dies, I have to find a new person to get used to and what if I can’t find one that can calm me down from the manic stages and prop me up on the dark days and generally make farts funny? Worse that that, what if he dies and leaves me with three dogs? What if I am never able to calm the crazy merry go round of ‘What if…’ thoughts that pollute my mind and I’m destined to lie awake at three in the morning planning for the worst. Coming up with my own ‘choose your own adventure’ answers to whatever the world might throw at me. There’s more, soooooooo much more. But I’m starting to panic and I’m pretty sure that heart attack is forthcoming and so it’s best I go eat chocolate and pretend I’m sane and the sun is shining and focus on things I can control. One shaved head coming up…
2 Comments
Q.D
3/15/2016 04:22:46 am
I once went to my GP because I was having chest pains on occasion and I live alone and what if my elderly neighbour is the one to find my body because I croaked in the shower and my hair blocked the drain and I flooded her bathroom.... And he suggested I think about meditating...
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ej
3/15/2016 05:25:53 am
Been there! I need a new Gyno because she said something equally useless to me last time. Plus side: did not spill on her fancy carpet!!! And they were wicked fancy!!!
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
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