Of Worry-Warts and  Willingness 

The idea of NOTHING being WRONG- of having nothing to worry about- is way more threatening to me than say, an earthquake. Or I dunno… death.

But if you’re serious about the art of worrying (as I am) you’ll do it in an optimal location. Mine happens to be my desk. My desk is the safest place I can think of. When my legs are twisted up like a pretzel on top of my rolling chair, and that chair tucked far under my massive black desk, it feels more like an armored tank than a desk. And I like it that way. (I absolutely refuse to purchase a table or desk not high enough to tuck my lap under it. It’s a thing with me.)
Okay, gotta go.  Time to worry about the broken world. Or rather, time to worry about the world that is probably gonna break annnnnny second. Just wait.

And worry.

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