This morning I read a post from IM Fletcher on his blog The Jane Doe Byline, that started my mind down the Worry Path.
I pretty much live just off of the Worry Path on the corner of Anxiety Avenue and Worst Case Scenario Lane in a two-story house made of faux adobe. The house itself is a cause for concern.
Last week I worried about my adult children and their children traveling by car and/or plane to our family reunion in Texas. I worried about Studly Doright riding the backroads on his motorcycle across multiple states to join us at the reunion. I worried about my cats who’d stayed behind under the care of a competent pet sitter.
Oddly enough, I never worried about my own safety as I hurtled across the skies inside machines that seem to defy gravity and logic. That kind of worry would just be stupid.
Thanks to my diligent worrying, every one of us made it safely to and from the reunion. Once again, my efforts paid off. I’m exhausted. Now, what should I worry about this week? Unfortunately, the possibilities are endless.
Here’s a poem I posted a while back, in case you think I’m a novice worrier: