My life as Little Miss Worrier tends to be slightly bizarre:
OMG! I can hear the house creaking! It’s going to fall down!
Sh!t, America has Ebola? We’re all doomed!
Why is that woman (the checkout girl) talking to me? She’s going to expect me to reply and I’ll get all twisty tongue-tied, my cheeks will glow scarlet and I’ll spit in her face!
That lorry is really close. That lorry is frighteningly close. Oh my goodness, that lorry is going to kill me. (It’s just overtaking.)
It’s raining. What will my poor pussies do? They’re going to die!
The little things panic me. My head is a constant mess of ‘what ifs’ and ‘oh my gods’.
However, give me something HUGE to worry about and I’ll just sit back and let it all wash over me. I’m not sure if that’s because I can genuinely cope with the big stuff, or because my head pretends it isn’t happening; my own personal little internal bodyguard. Bless.
I barely remember the day where I stopped being a Miss and became a
possession Mrs. I have vague recollections of being a little perturbed, but I was so happy to be getting hitched (who’d have thought that someone would ever want me) that I spent the lead up to – and the day itself – in a little bubble of pure optimism. Likewise, when I donated my cute little left kidney to Blokey there was no hint of worry. I knew that bad things could happen and instead of worrying, I embraced the thoughts and prepared for the worst. I stressed out about the little things instead, the enemas and the catheters (which, it transpired, were the least troubling parts of the whole process.)
This year has been rather like a ‘big day ahead‘; it’s been … faulty. The knot in my chubby little belly has failed in its attempts to uncurl and the tension in my neck is slowly killing me. To relax I’ve taken to lounging around. I’m particularly partial to lying in a bubble bath, reading books aimed at young adults. If I’m alone I’ll sing songs very loudly. I haven’t done this very much recently. I need to rectify that. Oddly, I also clean and tidy, somewhat manically. And I move things around. It soothes my mind.
I’d like this year to be over now. I’m unsure what the next three months will bring and if I could wake up tomorrow and find that it’s January the first, my happiness would probably be akin to the joy felt by toddlers as they jump in muddy puddles on wet days.
Or, at the very least, I’d like access to a time machine so that I can return to my teenagehood and stomp around moaning about life being unfair and exams being too hard. Because honey, you have no idea just how tough your life is going to get!