Worry is one of those things that hides in the corners, waiting for you to notice it. And once you do, that tiny little thing, that speck, doubles and triples and quadruples in size until there are no more corners, only the worry.

It doesn’t accomplish anything. That’s something people always remind you, if you’re prone to worrying. For the people who don’t, I wonder what that is like, to live in a world where things either happen or they don’t, and the time between doesn’t hold a single “what if.”

Sounds lovely.

I’m a champion worrier, eligible for the pro circuit. My worrying endorsements are through the roof. I’ve been on the cover of Worrisome Weekly.

You get the idea.

But maybe the worry  is just the flip-side to my vast imagination. Maybe without it, there would be no Innies, no Outies, no Aunty Ida. Maybe there is a silver interior after all.

But I worry there isn’t.