I might be a worrier to the wart degree, it’s true. I will sit here and obsess about diseases that no one has had for decades, using already tired search engines that don’t have any new answers for me since I asked the last time about the plague and polio. There’s no sense and no reason to it, and it isn’t like I ever truly suffer from symptoms, but oh how I love to worry and complain.
My worry is a distant relative to my superstition. There’s a witchcraft to it, like if I worry over a thing, it is the key to its prevention. I will not be hit head on by the tragedy if I worry about it, or at the very least, since I have obsessed so much on it that it wouldn’t be so bad in the end because I have acclimatized myself to the idea. Worry wins every time.
And the thing never happens. So why worry? I don’t know. It’s fun. What else would I do? Be happy? Meditate? I don’t know if this worry isn’t a meditation of a sort. There are worry beads, and they seem to be linked with meditation somehow so isn’t that the same thing? Is each bead supposed to represent a specific worry. How many worries would you have if you had a whole string of them? Maybe you would have to make some up so that your beads wouldn’t be wasted. Maybe worrying about not having enough worries for a whole string of worry beads is also a valid concern. Or it’s possible to have too many worries for just one string of beads so you’d have to have numerous strands, falling in various lengths all over your body, like a belly dancer at the turn of the last century.