Worrywart

      I've always been an excellent worrier. I inherited the skill from my mother -- or maybe I gave it to her -- but I've polished and refined it to the point that when I don't have anything to worry about, I am quite capable of worrying about not worrying. Think I'm kidding? Consider that with all the bad things happening in the world, if I can't find something to worry about, I must not be bright enough to understand what's going on! And if you're not bright, you end up as some Republican senator.
      Plenty of people tell me that 95 percent of what we worry about doesn't come true. First, I want to know who figured that out. 'Cause no one asked me. And second, okay, if 95 percent of what we worry about doesn't take place, what about that other five percent, huh? Suppose it's the five percent that includes a jet airliner falling on your head or somehow ending up naked on America's Funniest Videos?
      To worry as much as I do, I have to worry about a multitude of things and not confine myself to the simple worries of food, shelter, clothing, and why the Democrats are against the death penalty but support abortion.
      I worry about world peace, the environment, and whether or not the fact that my scalp itches sometimes means I am about to suffer the heartbreak of psoriasis.
      I worry about reading Psychology Today magazine and discovering my life in the case history of a man arrested for fondling zucchini.
      I worry about my car and the endearing habit it has of dying on railroad tracks or in the middle of busy intersections or on the interstate as I accidentally honk at a motorcycle gang.
      I worry about computers coming to life and taking over the world. Then I worry about them giving it back.
      I worry about being marooned on an island with hundreds of lonely, beautiful women. On second thought, that's more of a daydream.
      I worry about being in an accident and not having good underwear on. (My mother strikes again.) Apparently hospitals as a matter of policy routinely reject people who wear dingy or holey underwear.
      I worry about how to pay my bills -- although apparently not as much as my creditors do. My telephone company acts like my payment is the only thing keeping them from bankruptcy. All the employees must gather around the mail room, just waiting for my payment to arrive so that they can shout, "Our jobs are saved!"
      I worry about losing my hair -- which I shouldn't do since worry apparently hastens its leaving -- and then I worry that I've already worried too much and the damage is done. There's a lot of things to be said about being bald. "Hey, there, baldy," for one, and "Polish your head a lot?" for another.
      An impressive number of worries, yes. But don't think I'm confined to domestic worries; I can branch out.
      For instance, I saw on the news that a small country recently announced it had developed a nuclear weapon. I can just see the press conference. A government spokesman steps up to the podium and says, "Gentlemen, we have developed an atomic bomb at last. This is the beginning of true equality when a tiny country such as ours can kill thousands of people and poison the environment as effectively as the super powers. This is indead -- excuse me -- indeed a great day."
      Look, if that isn't something to worry about, I don't know what is.
      In all this, I also have some personal worries, some very real questions that keep me awake at night and hover on the edges of my mind during the day.
      Such as, will I be in the right place at the right time do whatever I was put in this world to do?
      Am I saying, "I love you" enough and to the people who need it?
      Am I giving my best to my family and friends?
      Is the fact I'm alive adding a little hope or at least giving a laugh or two to this sad world?
      I worry about these things.