Worry

I hate worrying. But I'm really good at it. It comes second nature. And I can come up with the most convoluted situations that incite worry, as if the apocalypse is right upon us. I am the modern day Chicken Little. So when someone calls and hangs up and I think it was someone I know, I call that person back. And when there is no answer, I think, gee, that's weird. And then my mind goes to work. It imagines said caller having a heart attack, falling to the floor, and hanging up in the process. But wait, that would be too simple. No, a burglar got into the house and he was going to call me, but the burglar pulled the phone cord out of the wall and is now in the process of beating my friend to death. And I will never know because he can't answer the phone. Yes, these are really the things I'm thinking.

There is a part of me that realizes that there's a large probability that there is absolutely nothing bad happening. But there is also a large part of me that thinks I should jump in the car and drive over to my friend's house because he might be in danger. But boy would I look stupid showing up all worried when there's nothing happening. So I try the middle road approach with another phone call and one of those messages: I'm worried, is everything ok and call me to let me know. And then I sit here and hope for the best.

I've been watching too many Lifetime Movies too. Because there is yet another part of me that feels I need to establish some sort of valid alibi in case something bad did happen and I find him in a terrible state and they think I put him in it. Melodramatic, yes. Rational, no. I know that. But that doesn't mean I don't think about it.