I’m calling it, “I worry too much.”

It was the day that my worry became something I wore so obviously, that it might as well have been hoopyloopy earrings or some fancy accessory.That same day, I started this category, – mostly to see if I do INDEED worry too much about the little things, or if I can be of some comfort to my companions in the crazy.

Someday, they’ll make pills for worry. And they probably won’t be pills at all since I don’t take pills, and they’ll probably even taste like orange tic-tacs covered in whipped cream, and they’ll be my vice.

Hi! And a GIANT – but careful – welcome to my new category; I worry too much.

It’s something that I’ve been told since I can remember, actually.
I tried to blame my anxiousness on having children, and while having them absolutely increased it, it’s been there all along. Carnival rides when I was little, being a passenger instead of a driver when we were 16, immediately figuring the worst when my cop dad didn’t get home on time, getting called into the boss’s office for something good and always assuming the opposite. Feeling even the slightest bit out of control and in the hands of fate, and I get this really cute pursed lipped – crinkled eyebrows face, chest red, tears ready. You’d have a hard time labeling me as crazy, I bottle most of it. But it’s time to uncork, with a goal to put hang some of my crazy out on the blog clothesline and let the good winds of comfort and compassion dry me out and force me to let the molehills remain un-montainous.

Let’s just list some of the things that go through my head, and later, I’ll blog a daily worry that we can hold hands and sing and dissect together, yes? LET THE FUN BEGIN.

-I left something plugged in at home and it’s probably burning down.

-Somebody is going to lure my children off the bus, away from the schoolyard, and into their camaro with really fancy candy, umbrellas, monster high dolls, or a bicycle.

-They’re going to contract Mono or worse from any and all public drinking fountains.

-My farmer is going to get run over by some piece of equipment, or struck be lightning, and nobody will even know it because a tractor in a field moving or stopped is never something people notice as worrisome.

-Can germs breed under fingernails?

-If my kids get on the wrong bus after school, what happens then?

-Not ONLY will they contract something much worse than Mono from a porta-potty, they’ll likely fall in AND THEN WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

-There’s a burglar, murderer, and (not or, psh, they work together probably) rapist hiding in my basement WAITING for the ONE NIGHT that I don’t have the dogs or the giant guy or the cell phone battery charged, to pounce. You know that joke going around about hollering out to see if they’d like a sandwich? that’s me.