Worry Wart

Don’t worry about the world coming to an end today. Its already tomorrow in Australia.


I’ve inherited a pesky gene, born into a constant state of “But what if?” anxiety. Amongst my entire family, I reckon I’m the most panic prone, infected with the curse of the human papilloma-virus, living inside the shell of a worry wart, battling an internal catastrophe. Its a total buzz kill.

I know what you’re thinking. “Everyone worries. What’s the big whoop? Just because it happens to you, everything feels surmountable? Grow a pair or strap it on and stop whining!” Okay, I hear you. But this is different, because while you feel uneasy from time to time (often mistaken for stress or menstrual pain), my anxiety washes over like a monsoon of chronic fear for no functional reason. I’m that random weather tirade that destroys cities on a sunny apple pie Sunday, erupting into a God-fearing climax. Move over Katrina, step aside Irene, Hurricane Tercia is in town!

“How long are you back for? Why did you come back? Weren’t you happy in KL? When are you getting a job? Do you know what you want to do yet? Why don’t you work in the bank? Times are tough here. Its not looking good. You really shouldn’t be too picky.”

Cut to me. Fingers curled against the skin of the sofa. Facial deadpan. Internal chaos.

And so it begins. Barely 2 weeks since I returned to the big city, I’m feeling all sorts of pressure. Being the worry wart that I am, what do I do? I imagine the absolute worse. Me curled up in the corner of a street somewhere, chugging down a bottle of cheap gasoline whiskey in a brown paper bag, keeping warm in my own filth. Or me with eye bags, working the graveyard shift at Woolsworth, zombie-like emotionless and miserable in that God awful green uniform. Fact: Green makes me look like a retiree in Florida.

Worst case scenarios. But nonetheless, possible scenarios. Look at Charlie Sheen.

But seriously, I need to find a little euphoria in my life right now. I’m so far away from my support group (friends, girlfriend, nasi lemak), I’m feeling a little anxious with this new life I’m trying to build for myself. I worry that I might have came back for the wrong reasons. I worry if I’ll shrink that jumper in the dryer – having not done my own laundry in a while, like 3 years. I worry how I’ll be at interviews – having breezed through 3 jobs where I was hired at face value (which in itself, doesn’t make for a very impressive resume).  I worry I won’t ever afford a house – especially in Melbourne when the home loans are as ridiculous as Joan Rivers’ new slash old slash new face. But most of all, I worry that even after all the experience I’ve garnered through my 30 years of travel, work and life – I have returned as just another bug on an ant hill.

I know that worrying is one of the lousiest and most “pointlesstest” past time ever adopted by mankind but that’s where I am right now – sitting at the peak of Worryville,  sipping a cocktail of Heebie-jeebies, smoking a stick of Whatabouttomorrow Frights. I’m trying to put my fears and mental magic crystal ball aside from projecting the future. I’ve got a spade of faith and I’ve done it before, I’ll do it again; I’m gonna dig myself out of this worry spell!

Here’s a poem by Jing Bautista. Take note all worriers. 

worry? why worry? what can worry do? 
it never keeps a trouble from overtaking you. 
it gives you indigestion and sleepless hours at night
and fills with gloom the days, however fair and bright.it puts a frown upon the face, and sharpness to the tone
we’re unfit to live with others and unfit to live alone
worry? why worry? what can worry do?
it never keeps a rouble from overtaking you.


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