Don’t Worry

Whenever I start worrying about money, I know that means I am getting my period. The rest of the month, I am ok with cash. There are many things I want, and I’m the first to admit I have some expensive taste going on, but I try to check myself before I wreck myself.

My life is dotted with lots of used and re-used objects – lip and eye pencils worn down to nubs, eyeshadow from the 70s, 2 toothpicks in my car that have been there for about 3 years and going strong, old ass but not necessarily ‘vintage’ jewelry – meaning a necklace that my father gave me when I was 14 still gets lots of prime time around my neck and it’s made of aluminum.

I am frugal to the point of maybe an entry level hoarder, but I manage it, until PMS hits me and then I get real nervous.  It’s like when I was a kid and I would lay at wake at night and worry about whether the world was going to run out of water. I could hear the leaky shower head in the bathroom next to my bedroom and in each drop that fell, I felt the planet get more and more thirsty. I’d go to school unslept and unhinged and later my imaginings would link with the greater conscience of the earth and become what we know of as “green”.

But then it was just kind of crazy and probably an early emergence of depression. It was less about saving the world than it was about worrying about it. And it’s the same with money with me. It’s less about saving it and more about worrying about it. I could cut some corners but i just don’t because then if i did there would be nothing to concern me. If I decided to never buy shoes again, I would still have at least a good hundred pairs left unworn to choose from when the heels are slit to slide my motionless feet into. That is assuming I make it to 100, which for me seems likely. I am always last to leave.

I love worry like I love nothing else. I must or else I wouldn’t do it so much. It’s vexing and troubling and dumb as I have had a run of incredible luck in my so far pretty amazing life and not one thing I have obsessively worried about has happened. It’s the things I don’t worry about that happen and then I start to worry about what I am not worrying about.

8 Comments. Add To The Mix…

  1. Oh man, I totally relate to this. The kid analogy is perfect. I think my constant childhood worry was an early warning sign of OCD, which I have (mostly) under control. I <3 your blog!

  2. Wow, entirely with you. I worry like it’s my job. I’ve tried the whole Buddhist thought process of “If you can change it, there’s no sense worrying; if you cannot, there’s still no sense worrying.” Doesn’t work.

    My brain is wired to worry. It was even worse when I was pregnant…I once stayed awake all night, tossing and turning, over a visit to the dentist (my greatest fear). I didn’t even have an appointment scheduled, I just knew I’d have to go sometime within the next 6 months, and I was pre-worrying.

    I think without the build-up of worrying, though, we wouldn’t get that nice rush of reassurance when everything turns out fine. Maybe we’re not worry addicts; we’re “everything worked out great, despite our fears” junkies.

  3. Hmm. I worry about you sometimes.
    The dripping faucet/zombie schoolgirl effect was spot on.
    I simply LOVE your point of view. Keep sharing, please.

  4. It worries me that you worry so much. I even worry about worry. It is a constant radio station playing in my head, sabotaging my experience, but I’ve learned to tune out much of the time, because it is always the same old songs. I hold on to things like a pack rat, as if a part of my life would disappear if I threw that out. It is all about insecurity. If I could upload a copy of myself into the cloud I’d do it in a minute. It would satisfy my fear of disappearing, knowing a copy of me was out there for everyone to check out. But they probably wouldn’t be able to open the file, or parts of me might be missing or corrupted by the copying process. Failing that, I’d just like to put my stuff somewhere safe. As Carlin said, it’s all about finding a place for your stuff. I never look at my stuff, I just like knowing it’s there. But in any case, I would gladly trade my worries for your worries any day. I’d be happy with too many shoes. What is it with women and shoes? I never notice what people have on their feet, they could have paws for all I know.

  5. For some reason, I am immensely reassured that you worry too… given your great gifts (compassion, clarity, humour, beauty) I had assumed that all worry could be submerged with a joke, or that you were wealthy enough not to be burdened by worry. I still wish you peace, but thanks for making me feel better with your candour!

  6. Stop worrying and start living! Lol. Easier said than done, right darling? however, what you should do is exactly what you said: Be Grateful. For all the wondrous things in your life. Do this whenever you start worrying, k?

    Now. Here’s why I’m not worried: Because of this and I quote you of course: “I am always last to leave.”

    Sooo…as long as you are going to be here, then I will not feel alone so I am not worried. 🙂 see you in Cleveland on 10/5 you sexy motha!

Leave a Reply