“Worry, what is that? A pointless thing is Master Worry — an intruder. He steals into your house and creeps into your bed and what do you do, child? Do you push him away and tell him to be gone and bolt the door fast against him? No, you move over and let him have the good pillow and the best quilt to warm himself.” — From Deanna Raybourn’s The Dark Enquiry (which arrived in my mailbox last week and which I am currently reading).
I am a bit worried at present. I’m not usually a worrier; it’s not something I do unless I can’t see a good solution to a problem. Unfortunately, it then gets fairly free reign.
I was telling my boss the other day about some of the things that are upsetting me (none of them are work-related) and, though he sympathised, he finished by asking me what the hell I thought I was doing.
“The Lisa I know doesn’t just sit around worrying,” he said, “she should have cracked the shits by now, and just sorted it out and gotten on with it.”
While I’m glad to know he thinks me so capable, a big part of the problem is that the several, unrelated things that I need to sort out have sort of become normalised; I’ve been lulled into a dejected inaction that I need to snap out of before I can deal with them.
Now I’m into the worrying stage, which I think is at least an improvement. I read somewhere that in certain situations, worry isn’t always wasteful, despite the name of this blog entry (which is from Jewel’s Hands; btw) and the quote I’ve started with; it can be a (stressful) way to think the issues through and bash your brain into coming up with better solutions.
This has been kind of a depressing post, so going to leave you with this song, since it’s both appropriate and also quite soothing and positive. It’s been in my head for days (well, a different version has been in my head — a scratchy old-man version that may or may not have been Louis Armstrong — but I couldn’t find that one, so here’s Bing instead):