- Surveys: Don’t worry about them. I feel a tiny guilt about blowing them off, but not enough to actually complete one. The world as we know it will simply have to go on without my input. Just another thing I’ll be burning in hell over.
- Germs: You would think that someone as admittedly tidy as me would be a germaphobe, but I’m not. Kids are so disgusting that if I ever had a propensity to fear germs, the children cured me of it. Devlin wipes his hands on the sides of tables no matter how many napkins I give him. Some parents go down the other hole, but I have resigned myself to the knowledge that there is nothing I can do to stop them (the germs and the kids), so I might as well embrace them. I share cups. I eat off of whoever’s spoon. I double-dip. I mean, I don’t lick public bathroom stall walls, but you get the picture. I prefer to wage my battles elsewhere.
- What other people think about me (usually): I don’t think anyone can truly claim they don’t care what other people think of them, but I try really hard not to worry about this. I am more consumed with what I think of me than the other way around.
- Cancer: It got me once. If it gets me again, I’ll deal with it then. In the meantime, I’ve got my life to enjoy. Life is too precious to worry about cancer. Fucking cancer.
- How towels and sheets are folded in the linen closet: This was a big deal in my house growing up. Mother would go ballistic if the towels weren’t perfectly aligned. I think they were a euphemism for character in her mind. Her folded sheets were pristine legend. All the towels matched up and looked like a symphony when you opened the closet door. My linen closet, pure rebellion. Beach towels mixed with bath towels. Blankets cavorting with sheets. Not hard to figure out the psychology behind this.
Next post: Worry is overrated Part 3
P.S. I saved Devlin’s shirt flambe in case I need a Zombie costume.
Don’t Worry: Be Happier
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