friday feast: worry wort on a roll

    from timandpep’s photostream

Egads, what is it now?

As Gilda Radner used to say, “There’s always something.”

Of the thousands of thoughts I have each day, I would say at least 3/4 of them stem from fear, anxiety or worry. They run the gamut from silly mind clutter, like:

Is the eye doctor going to dilate my pupils?
What if I wear the wrong thing to the party on Saturday?
Am I getting even more freckles?

to work-related, self esteem issues:

What if I never publish another story ever again?
Why can’t I find the right plot for this story?
Shouldn’t I be a better writer by now?

All the way up to some heavy duty fears:

Why is North Korea so focussed on nuclear weapons?
Will we ever recover from this recession?
We’ve been lucky so far, but what if something bad happens to us?
Is the end of the world coming soon?

I never really took stock of how much time and energy I spend worrying about things that never materialize or over which I have no control, until I read this poem by Jeanne Marie Beaumont. The list of things sounded so familiar. I guess none of us are immune. We cope with anxiety in different ways, but we all want answers, reassurance. Wouldn’t it be grand if someone with real authority could just come up to us and say:

photo by dinning under a windmill

My only comfort is knowing there are other worry worts like me out there. *gulp* Aren’t there? What if no one reads this post? What if no one cares?

See what I mean? It’s enough to make you want to curl up into a little ball and never come out:


by Jeanne Marie Beaumont

Is it starting to rain?
Did the check bounce?
Are we out of coffee?
Is this going to hurt?
Could you lose your job?
Did the glass break?
Was the baggage misrouted?
Will this go on my record?

(Rest is here.)

Just in case you can relate, here are some worry dolls from Guatemala. The Mayans believe that if you tell your worries to them, then put the dolls under your pillow at night, by morning they will have taken your worries away.

photo by catclawtub

Yeah, right. What if the dog eats the worry dolls while I’m asleep? Jama, you don’t have a dog. Okay, why don’t I have a dog? I like animals, why don’t they like me?


Today’s Poetry Friday Roundup is being hosted by Brian Jung at Critique de Mr. Chompchomp. OMG! Will he bite us?

P.S. I think writers are more predisposed to worry than most people. We are in the business of creating stories based on a lot of “what-if’s.” Always looking for conflict, needing to add dramatic tension. Thinking of worst possible scenarios for our characters. What say you? You ARE out there, aren’t you?

*Worry coccoon courtesy of Amy Ng.