excess

Hi everybody! It's me, your favorite foggy blogger with pearls, back from a few days of ignoring everything that matters in order to give my full attention to paranoia. It's really fun, try it someday! Don't try it someday. Try it never, in fact.

Okay, I haven't been that paranoid. Just my normal amount of paranoia (which is a lot). I worry about being tired. Why are you so tired, Meg? I worry about my lack of focus. Why can't you focus, Meg? I worry about my bones and my butt and my teeth and my throat and my stomach and my intestines and my skin and my eyes and my nose and my ears and my toes and my knees and my joints and my blood and my reproductive parts and my breasts and my nails and my fingers and my feet and my heels and my toes and my bowel movements and my need to constantly pee and my diet and my ribs and my heart and my maybe my brain. A little. I don't worry about my brain that much, although that should be one of my top concerns.

So I worry. I find something new to worry about every 15 minutes or so. If I'm fixated on some weird spots on my skin, I'll soon forget about them once something else odd (real or imagined) pops up. If I had a billion dollars, I'd have a personal doctor with me at all times. Or at least I'd visit a doctor every single day without worrying about the damn co-pays and deductibles. I would also have a personal chef and masseuse and life coach. I would probably turn into my generation's Howard Hughes, though, so perhaps it's best I don't have a billion dollars. (Then again, I wouldn't refuse it. Are you offering? Because I'LL TAKE IT.)

I gotta get this hypochondriac thing in check before it completely spirals out of control. It takes over my entire day, my thoughts, my mood. I can't be a functioning member of society when I'm obsessed over what could be and what might go wrong.

I believe my first step on the road/trail/path/highway/freeway/byway to living paranoia-free is to start facing whatever it is I avoid. This seems like it would do more harm than good, but I think reality tends to be less terrifying in most cases than whatever storyline I've concocted in my head. An overactive imagine is supposed to make me into a great novelist, right? Instead it's convinced me I have every illness and disease on the planet. So start facing the fears and taking precautions, Meg. Not extreme precautions, mind you. No need to wear tinfoil on your head or Kleenex boxes on your feet (yet), but just remember to wear sunscreen and drink water, okay? Okay.

Another step I can take is to, you know, cut my hair and get a job. Except not the cut my hair part. But get a job. Or at least a few hobbies. I just read and read and read and read and walk and walk and walk and walk and read and read and read and read and walk and walk and read while walking and it all adds up to me being oh-so-very-much in my head most (if not all) of the day. That is a recipe for paranoia. Anyone with that much time to themselves would be trapped in a maze of their own thoughts. Sometimes the best thing we can do is be busy for stretches of time so that our free time is productive and enjoyable instead of misery inducing. In short, I gotta get out more.

This has been a post! I don't know how to effectively wrap this up! The only thing I know how to do lately is make overnight oats, which I should get started doing if I want to eat them at midnight. And I do. I at least know that I want to do that. Everything else? Well, I'm beginning to figure it out. The road/trail/path/highway/freeway/byway may be a long one, but by god I'm determined to traverse it. Wish me a safe journey.