I worry needlessly. I worry needlessly over completely and utterly petty things. When I was a kid, I worried about whether my eyes would get stuck when I crossed them. I worried about sitting too close to the television and running into strangers … anywhere. I worried about the fish that died far too young, about the dog that got sick, and about my sister that got deathly ill. I even worried about whether I would remember my “times tables” (actually I still worry about that one)!

Now I worry about more sensible stuff. More “grown-up” things. You know, deaths that might happen. Sickness that might or might not turn into worldwide pandemics. Tripping over invisible ledges or walking into spider webs. Yesterday, I worried about whether my nails were too long. The day before that I worried about the single gray hair I found amongst my chestnut locks. Today, I am worried about the hole I found in my pants.

I’m surprised I’m not worried about the color of the sky or the length of the neighbor’s grass. Oh wait … yup, I’m worried about those, too.


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