Worry is the Stage 5 Clinger of my life.

If my life were a party, Worry would be that uninvited guest that always shows up and just does not  leave you alone.  The party is going swimmingly, then the doorbell ding-dongs, and – oh, look everybody … Worry showed up.

I may have mentioned that I’ve been genetically programmed to be a worrier (thanks, Mom ).  I often worry about ridiculous things that just will not happen.  They usually relate to my current Major Life Event (I needn’t remind you of what that is). 

Yesterday I worried that:

• the church gym (where we’re holding our reception) won’t get cleaned up after the party is over, and while I’m sunning myself on a Mexican beach, our beloved church will be tallying up a startling damage and clean-up bill
• that every dollar we receive in wedding money will be used to pay that damage bill
• that my photographer doesn’t like me (so silly) and that he’ll purposely take awful pictures of our wedding thereby ruining our memories of the day and leaving us with nothing to remember our nuptials by
• that I needed to assign a couple friends to take candid photos during our wedding day in case our photographer really did pull such a ludicrous stunt
• that I might gain an absurd amount of weight in the next couple of months and will no longer be able to fit into my wedding dress

The thing about worry is that it’s pointless.  These worries serve no purpose.  What exactly did I accomplish by reverting back to junior high and wondering whether my photographer likes me or not?  Absolutely nothing.  And on that note, who the hell cares if he likes me.  I should know better.

To illustrate my point further, I’d like to quote a line from one of the most genius television shows of my generation.  That’s right, my friends, the show I’m referring to is Jersey Shore.  And my girl Sammi Sweetheart describes worry with much more finesse than I ever could (although she is referring to her roommate in this snippet of wisdom):

“[It] kind of reminded me of a dirty chihuahua, just barking, and you just kinda want to smack it to the side.” – Sammi Sweetheart

See?  Brilliant.  Worry is like a dirty chihuahua that just doesn’t. shut. up.

P.S. Nothing at all against chihuahuas.  I am a dog-lover, not a dog-smacker.

Are you a worrier?