I'm a worrier.
It's just something I do.
Dad says I come by it honestly.
I worried so much in first grade that I had a constant stomachache.
One night when I was in fourth grade I laid in my bed worrying late into the night about nothing at all...I was distraught. Finally my mom came down and rubbed my tummy until I fell asleep. She must have been so annoyed.
When I was in eighth grade I decided to quit worrying...about math in particular. I was so bad at it. It never made sense. It was easier just to ignore it...until Mr. Shiner emailed my dad and he showed up at school and had me called to the office...from then on I faked it until my freshmen year at college when it made sense for half a second.
Lately there's one specific thing on my mind.
You guessed it.
It gives me heartburn. Sends me crazy dreams. Keeps me sleepy.Treated me to my first panic attack.
I worry about where we will live, how we'll make ends meet, what will happen at home while I'm gone...
At least I have memories of those peaceful moments from this journey's quiet beginning when my heart was calm and my head was resoundingly clear...
They remind me that somehow, through some miracle, all this worry will have been worth it.