Today’s post belongs in the self-do not help section. This section is located adjacent to self-help.
Last night I had a wonderful four hours of sleep then woke to spend an hour of so honing my skill of worrying. I worry best about those things which I cannot control, which, at 4:00 am, seem perfect topics.
One of my unique skills is to take any situation and work it into an awful outcome. Often I am able to come up with a couple alternates as well. On a lucky night, I am able to identify a critical role I played in the disastrous outcome.
I do not worry about world events, even local events, rather restrict my efforts to situations involving those I care about. This is handy because along with panicking I also feel guilty for my role in the outcome that I have constructed out of whole cloth. (Note: This is the only thing I will ever construct out of whole cloth despite several efforts to learn how to sew. These efforts will need to be detailed in another post.)
Last night I followed the advice of every women’s magazine I’ve ever read and got up to read. Did I choose some light reading? No, sir, I went right to my laptop and used the Internet to not only enlarge the possibilities of crises but their dire outcome.
I woke this morning, groggy, and quickly slap myself around for being up in the middle of the night. Upon reflection, I am reminded that all I spent time on is either out of my control or not likely to end in disaster.
So why did I do it? My mother. This is when I like to blame someone else, and my mother was nothing if not a Grade-A worrier.
I console myself knowing that, at least in my children’s minds, I will experience eternal life, because they will think of me whenever they spend a night tossing and turning.