Off My Mind: Things I am Not Going to Worry About

Lately I’ve been worrying so much that I barely have time for anything else, in my head at least. The other day I realized that I just need to stop worrying… so I did. This is unprecedented in Liz history. The worries are still there, of course, but they no longer threaten to suck me dry. I no longer feel like I’m going to break into little pieces. I still need to purge my system, though, and get these worries off my mind.

I am not going to worry about money anymore. My paycheck every Friday isn’t that great — I work fifteen hours a week and earn minimum wage — and it may be tight every week, but I’m okay. It’ll be even less tight after next Friday, when I pay off the last bill in the stack of bills that I need to catch up on. Hell, I’m even managing to save a little bit of money every week. I’ve gotten damn good at budgeting. Clearly I am wife material.

I am not going to worry that every family member’s health problem is a death sentence anymore. Well okay, that’s probably impossible to stop doing, but I’m going to try. My aunt had her biopsy on the 21st, and the other lady in my life who needs a mammogram has yet to make an appointment, so either way it’s all out of my hands. Worrying is not going to help anything. It’s just going to make me feel sick.

I am not going to worry about my own health problems. Currently I’m in remission, meaning I have little to no symptoms. This could all change tomorrow, but I’m not going to worry about that. I’m actually feeling quite positive about this year’s New York Comic Con; last year, I hurt for days after, but this year I’m less soft because I work in retail again and I’m used to being on my feet for hours. By October 15th, I’ll be a pro. I’m not going to let my pain ruin that day for me.

I’m also not going to worry about my lack of a diagnosis. It’s got to be a good thing that they haven’t found anything, because maybe that means this will go away. Maybe it’s just some weird aftereffect of the mono I had, maybe it’s just the mono working its way out of my system all these years later. I don’t know. I caught a segment of some Mystery Diagnosis-ish show last night and the woman’s symptoms were almost to the T mine; I could have written that part of the episode. She ended up being diagnosed with Scleroderma, an autoimmune disease where the body doesn’t produce enough of the collagen protein and the body attacks its own skin cells and other tissues. It’s a rare disease marked by joint pain, fatigue, Raynaud’s Syndrome, and GI issues. It sounds pretty close to mine, and maybe it’s not mine, but once I get back on my feet and can afford another doctor’s appointment, I’m going to have Pam check my collagen levels in my next blood workup. It gives me something else to go on and something else to cross of the long list of Things That are Not Wrong with Me if the test comes back negative… but I’m not going to let it get to me.

And while we’re still on the health subject, I am so going to stop worrying about my Mirena IUD. When they first told me it could potentially poke through my uterus and cause DOOM, I didn’t worry about it. But ever since I missed my followup because I couldn’t afford the copay, I’ve been freaking out at the slightest bit of pressure in my lower abdomen. Logic tells me I would definitely know if the thing poked through my wall because I’d be in screaming pain and bleeding like a stuck pig or something, but my imagination (as we know) runs rampant and tells me that I am bleeding internally and am going to die. If you’ve ever thought I might be crazy, you now may be convinced that I am completely insane. I’m not apologizing for my imagination. It helps me write stories. :P

I am not going to worry about what I want to do for the rest of my life. I had this problem. I wanted to do everything and couldn’t pick one thing to do forever. A week ago, I realized that I don’t have to pick one thing. A career should be something you enjoy, that you want to get paid for. It shouldn’t be a life sentence. At least, not for me. I am not a “pick one thing and do it forever” kind of person. The only thing I do forever is love someone. I have many interests, all of which wax and wane. It keeps my life interesting and keeps me learning. I can already tell that I’m going to be one of those seventy-year-olds embarking on a new career, because I am always embarking on a new interest, and have already had a successful career.

Part of me wanted to be an editorial assistant, part of me wanted to be a teacher, and part of me wanted to be a surgeon. I can’t do it all at once, and I accept that. I tried to pick one thing to do forever and I couldn’t convince myself that it was okay, so when I realized that I didn’t have to choose, I felt a huge weight come off me. All I had to do was choose which one I wanted to do next. As much as I’d love to be an editorial assistant, it’s not realistic for what I want in my life right now. I’d have to go to school for another two to three years, work the retail job I have now, and then when I finished I’d have to find a job in the field… which would not be easy. I want to work as an editor for a publishing company and read people’s novels and short stories. Those jobs are very, very hard to come by, partly because of the economy, and partly because of the changing landscape of publishing. It doesn’t mean that it would be impossible. It just wouldn’t be easy.

So instead, I’ve decided to chase my other dream for now and come back to that one later: being a teacher. I’ve decided that I’d rather work as a preschool teacher because, as much as I love all kids, that age group is my favorite. And, in Connecticut, you can become a preschool teacher with either an A.S. in Early Childhood Education or your CDA certification. I’ve also heard that many preschool and Head Start programs will hire a teacher as long as they are currently working on their certification. I’ve emailed the head of the ECE department at my community college to see what my best option would be, as the certification on its own would take less time than the A.S., and I’m assuming that since I already have an A.S., I’d be just fine with the certificate.

I’d be able to start working in that field in a relatively short period of time, and then I would have a good paying job with health insurance benefits and enough income to live off of. After that, I could start pursuing my B.A. in English part-time and eventually be in that field, as well as have time to focus on my writing; most preschool teachers are part-time employed, and depending on where they teach, they also have summers off. I would also have something to fall back on if I can’t find employment as an editorial assistant. No matter how I look at it, this works for the best.

I am not going to worry about our wedding plans. Mike and I both have very different ideas of what our wedding should look like. He wants a Halloween wedding and I want a beach wedding — two very different seasons. I worried about us compromising, but I’ve decided that if we don’t, I don’t care. It doesn’t really matter to me how we get married, so long as we do get married. We’re going to talk about our wedding plans, budget, and a possible date later.

I am not going to beat myself up about my savings and worry about how soon we can get our own place. It really bothers me that I had to use the money I saved for an apartment to get through the months I was unemployed… but I’m not going to beat myself up about it anymore. I’m saving money again and moving forward. I’m considering setting up a second savings account that is only for the apartment, that way it’s out of sight and out of mind, and I won’t be tempted to tap into it next time I have a monetary emergency.

And, on a lighter note… I am not going to worry about catching up on Grey’s Anatomy anymore. I finished Episode 16 of Season 7 earlier today, DVRed the first episode of Season 8 last night, and I’ll catch up eventually. I’m not really looking forward to having to wait a whole week to see the next episode, anyway.

Also, on a completely different subject but also equally light note, I am back in my writers’ group at NVCC. I’m also sort of a team leader, the person who is there every Thursday so that we meet once a week no matter what. This also means that, every week, I have to write something. It also means that I’m taking it upon myself to ensure that, every week, we have some kind of snack. Snacks are important. I’m making the writers’ group and the Fresh Ink publication one of my priorities right now, because it helps me make writing one of my priorities. Writing and snacks are important.

What are you not worrying about, and what are you looking forward to? Leave a comment and get the bad things off your mind, and make something good your mind’s priority.

Once upon a time, I married a woman and then I walked around downtown

I dreamed a bunch of weird shit the night before last (and didn’t write about it until now because THE NOVEL is taking all of my writing time). I know normally dream posts are annoying, but seriously? They were so funny and weird that I think you’ll appreciate them.

In the first dream, I was getting married. I blame Jess and Sarah, because they were talking about wedding dresses on Twitter the other night. Anyway, in the dream, I wore this impossibly weird dress. It was made out of doily fabric that looked papier mached, and I have no idea how I got it on. The wedding was inside some house, and everything was ready. I walked down the aisle, and at the end, instead of Michael, was this chick.

She was pretty, I guess; the wedding veil didn’t really let me see her face. She wore the same kind of dress I wore, only quite a few sizes larger. I had no idea who she was.

We said our vows, and then everyone came to congratulate us. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m so happy. But I wish I’d married Michael.” Then people started getting ready for the honeymoon and saying that we should get ready. All I could think of was, I have to have sex with her? I don’t know her!

Just as I started to panic over that, the dream changed and I was in a kitchen with Sandy. We had to go to the hospital to go visit someone, so she and I left and started walking all over downtown. Except downtown was different, and we got lost. And chased by boys on bicycles. Who weren’t actually chasing us, you see. We ended up in an alley with these new, still drying concrete steps a few feet above our heads. Sandy jumped up to get to them, and since I’m a scaredy cat and don’t like to climb, I just stared anxiously up at her.

“Come on,” she said, and disappeared. I had no idea where she went. I grabbed a chunk of the wet concrete and the pieces of her journal from high school that she’d found, and went back to the house.

Her kids and a bunch of other kids were there, waiting for me, so I started rounding them up and brought them to a part of the house where they could play. There was this really small baby who could walk and talk, and then Sandy magically showed up.

“I went to the hospital,” she said when I asked her where she had gone.

Then suddenly I was standing outside of the house I’d gotten married in, wearing a normal dress and standing next to Mike, who wore a tuxedo.

“Your limo’s here,” someone said. “Enjoy your honeymoon!”

We got into the limo and rode off to our honeymoon, whatever that was.

And then I woke up* because I really had to pee.

I don’t know what happened to my new wife. I’m kind of worried that she might come after me for the whole $10 I’ve got to myself.


*Cliche, because I save all of the not cliche for THE NOVEL.