This post brought to you by Bob Marley

My mom used to call me a "worry-wort." She said that I worried too much about things that I didn't need to worry about. Maybe she was right after all.

Bob Marley visited me last night. Really. Well, at least in my dream he did. He was in my living room, and he was singing to me! I was just in absolute awe as he sang what seemed to be a hybrid of what I think is a White Stripes song and something else...what, I'm not quite sure, but definitely reggae. He sat across from me singing, "You've got to take all your worries and you write them all down. You write them all down, you just write them all down. You've got to take all your worries and you get them all out, you get them all out..." And I was smiling ear to ear and I said, "Yea, Bob! That's what I do with my blog!" And I pointed over to the side and there sat my laptop, with this blogger dashboard open, but blank, waiting for a post. And Bob said, "Yes, mon. You know the deal." And then he took a big hit off of an enormous joint and he handed it to me. In my dreams, I smoke pot with Bob Marley. I mean, how awesome is that?

I woke up with that little tune in my head and I thought, that's got to be a song I heard, so I googled the lyrics, but I can't find anything. The closest is that White Stripes song, Little Acorns, but it's not exactly that either. I suppose that's not really important here, though. The important part is that some nook or cranny of my brain knew that I needed to process some stuff and that this is where I usually go to do that.

There's so many worries going on in my mind these days.
I worry that I am responsible for Sally's death. I worry that I was negligent and didn't notice signs and symptoms that may have led the vets to diagnose her before she was in crisis, possibly saving her life, or at least prolonging it.
I worry that she suffered because I failed her.
I worry that Elsa is now in my care and that I'll fail her, too.
I worry that I won't be able to keep up with the pace of the new job I start on Wednesday.
I worry that I'll lose that job, and then have to go back through the application process to get my disability check re-enstated, which took four years. We can't go another four years without that check!
I worry that The Wifester is too burdened with me and my rapidly failing vision and that she's wearing tired of picking up the slack when it comes to driving, and taking the dog out at night, and picking up stuff in the dark corners, and getting the cobwebs that I missed...
I worry that I'll never get to see my family before my vision is all gone.
I worry that I'll never get to see so many things before my vision is all gone: states, parks, mountains, monuments...I want to see them all before I can't see anymore, and I know I won't get to.
I worry about this meningioma growing on my brain's lining. My brain!!
I worry about these hives I keep getting...
I worry about paying the bills each month, because there never seems to be quite enough money to cover everything.

I worry.

I worry that I'll die, having squandered my life away, never having made a difference or effected any meaningful changes.
I worry for the world we live in- for the children growing up in war-ravaged countries, in crime filled neighborhoods, in slums.
I worry about the puppies and kitties and horses and all the animals who don't have a home, who don't have food and water, and especially those who do have a home, but it is not a good, loving, nurturing one.

And don't laugh at me for this, but I honestly worry that I don't worry enough.
Case(s) in point: Sally.

On the way to the vet that first morning when she just had the fever, The Wifester was terribly worried, and I was all, "Oh, honey, she probably just has another UTI and you know that causes fever. She's a young, healthy girl. This isn't like Sunny..."

And when Sunny was sick that day, and we took her to the vet, The Wifester was terribly worried then, too, and I was all, "Well, I think she is showing signs of CHF, but that can be manageable, and I think we are catching it early enough since she just started showing the signs. I don't think she's dying right now."
She died that day.

I should have been more worried.

I should worry more about our financial futures. But I always end up just being happy that bills are (mostly) paid and we got to indulge in a few small luxuries. I don't need the biggest house or the newest fashions...I just need love, togetherness, and a few good meals that I don't have to cook every now and again. And puppy kisses. I need lots of puppy kisses in my life.

I feel better already, just listing all my worries. They're valid, most of them, but they aren't overbearing. It's probably natural to worry. And I need to allow those worries to be sorted out and filtered without stressing over them so much. I always say that I'm really a laid back, go with the flow kind of gal, and for the most part I am, truthfully. But even though I've learned to be able to adapt and go with the flow, that doesn't mean that I don't still worry.

How about you? What do you worry about and how do you cope with that worry?

Meet the Parents

Saturday was my Dad's birthday. My parents invited Wifey and I over for a cookout and some of Dad's splendid homemade banana pudding, but considering that my brother would be there and that we already had plans for Saturday, I declined that invitation. Instead I offered to take my parents out to dinner on Friday, and low and behold, they accepted! I suppose we acutally are making progress in this arena. This is a huge relief to me. It was just last month that they declined my invites to get togethe on my mom's birthday and Mother's Day citing church events as their outs. Happy to have a date with my parents, Wifey and I met them at the restaurant of their choice, which oddly enough was a Mexican restaurant (I mean, mom can make that at home better than any local place, right?) but hey, it's your day, Dad, so whatevs! It was a little more relaxed than previous visits with them have been since our reunion. For you new readers,( or those, like me, who forget things) my family and I are just now beginning to rekindle our relationship, after a nearly 6 year hiatus, in which there was no contact at all. It's been painstakingly slow and somewhat slippery to navigate this path of finding a happy medium with my family. I say my family, but I only mean a small section of it. My parents. I learned more about my father this past Friday night, which in turn taught me more about me. I found out that my OCD like behavior of counting how many words were just spoken in the last sentence, how many letters in that word, how many syllables...probably came from him. I found out that my high school algebra experience of being completely unable to grasp the concept and unable to transfer out of the class mirrored his experience. The only difference was he received zeros because he simply turned in papers with his name on them and my teacher was kind enough to give me 50s for at least placing an answer on the paper. My papers were usually turned in with all of my answers being x = 3.14 just because I was particularly fond of the way pi looked, and enjoyed drawing it. It really wasn't until college that my dad, who is now an engineer, picked up his mad math skills, and likewise, for me. I suppose you have to be in the right mindset, and have the right kind of teacher teaching in the right way to learn something like algebra and trigonometry. Once it clicked,though, it clicked. We attributed our math skills to all of our practice at counting everything in our heads all of the time. The old apple really doesn't fall so far from the tree, does it? Scary. After dinner, once we were in the safety of our car, Wifey said to me, "Honey, your dad's leg was bouncing as fast as yours does! And he was fidgeting with his napkin worse than you do! You guys have some serious anxiety issues."
I laughed. Not a full hearted, ha ha that's funny laugh, but a nervous, Yeah, I know what you mean, kind of laugh. Wifey has such clear perspective sometimes, it's frightening.