Worry wart … or is that wort. Oh my.

You know, we have been known to call my mum the Voice Of Doom such is her propensity for catastrophising and worst case scenario hypothesising. To give her credit over the last couple of years she has come a l.o.n.g. way in shifting from the sky is falling to maybe it’ll just rain today so you know, kudos to her for such impressive progress.

But growing up with that along with my innate nature (no doubt) has meant I am highly skilled at worrying about things that are not only pointless to worry about but will probably never even eventuate moving the worry from pointless to just plain stupid.

When Chef and I started going out we would be driving somewhere and he’d ask me what I was thinking. There was always a menagerie of dramas unfolding in my noggin, from worrying about the conflict of the day (from recollection it concerned the Balkans) to what had to be achieved at work in the first 10 minutes on Monday morning to whether that scarf would work with that shirt or maybe the collar wouldn’t sit right and maybe I should grow my hair again and OH MY GOD BRAKE! and I wonder who’ll be at this family gathering today to wondering whether my boss thinks I have what it takes and so on and so forth. Of course Chef was normally just wondering if we’d have sex that night so you know, we’re a match made in heaven really.

So when Eleanor posted about her tendency to worry I was both thrilled in that OH MY GOD I’M NOT ALONE and totally plotting how I was going to steal her idea.

So here are some of the things I worried about today

The humidity.
The relentless humidity.
The torturous humidity.
The weather report that indicated it is going to be 30C+ every day for the next week with “Far North Queensland comparable humidity”.