Intellectually, I know that worrying helps nothing and I really try to avoid worrying. Which is easier said than done. Most of the time, the worry hits me as I try to go to sleep (part of the reason for my insomnia) but some of it is more persistent and nags at me during waking hours.
I worry that Mr. POSSLQ is going to lose his patience with my unpacking process. I really am working on it but have reached a point where I’m now puzzling over where to put things. All of the obvious spaces seem to be taken. I need another closet. Preferably one about the size of my bedroom.
I worry that there is going to be some sort of inspection (the bane of my existence as an apartment dweller) and that I’m not going to be done with the unpacking and that there will be some inspector who will have a major conniption about the box maze in the livingroom.
I worry that Mr. POSSLQ is going to move all of the boxes that have my stuff in them (read: pretty much every yet upacked box) into my home office which will cause my brain to seize up and cease functioning because I do not function well with clutter. (Yes, I know how bizarre that is).
I worry that one of our cats eats too much and the other one isn’t eating enough. I worry that one day I will be catless (I’ve told Mr. POSSLQ I don’t plan on replacing our current cats when they pass… I adore cats but he’s not as big of a fan and, I think, would be just as happy to not have critters).
I worry about all sorts of stuff that goes on in the world that I really can’t do anything about.
I worry that I will somehow not finish the blogging challenge..hopefully THAT worry is completely unfounded.