I worry

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me a blogger?

i worry that i am not even a good enough writer to blog. who reads these blogs anyway? what is the pleasure or satisfaction? i am also bad with technology? we all have to start where we are and go forward. it’s not easy to do that but we cannot compare ourselves to others. we do but we have to ignore the results. there is always someone better at this than you, more successful, more something, more everything. i want to write but if i spend more time thinking about it than actually writing, then that is a discipline problem. it’s like yoga, i like to have done it. and i like the effect on me. it’s good for the soul. i need to meditate in order to write. bla bla bla wow it keeps wanting to make that word boa for me, what is wrong with bla? it is a true thing. agreed upon. so maybe go work on poetry again, maybe that is my truth. ok. i blogged.

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no one cares what you do

In the middle of the dance floor during my 40th high school reunion I realized deeply that no one cares what you do. All the years I have carried the worry of what others think of me and suddenly I realized that it is still like high school. People are generally too self absorbed to really care what other people do. It didn’t matter how I looked or what I said, they are more concerned with themselves. And not because they are immature, it is just human nature. In high school it is just magnified by the intense self consciousness that adolescence brings. It never truly stops. Yet I have worried for my whole life that people will judge me in some way. I always feel like I am being observed and judged, and it is only my own judgements not the others. Besides who were we in high school? Did we even know ourselves? I see old friends and some of the past comes back to me. We have shared experiences and maybe we knew each other on a simple innocent level, but we were to become much more, and we are not known deeply. We are more than we were in high school. But what remains is that worrying about what other people think is a waste of energy and time and a waste of a life. 

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he’s my brother

He worries more than I do, I feel reckless compared to him, and at the same time redeemed. My brother is a police officer and sees the world through that filter. He admits that he does but he can’t help it. I see him trying to control the safety of his family whom he adores. But it just looks like unreasonable control sometimes. Is that what I do? try to control with my worry?  i often worry ineffectively in that I don’t have the power to fix the thing that i worry about. But the worrying makes me feel in control. and prepared. I believe i have spent my life preparing for disaster, mentally. Now i think it was my mother who made us this way. She reacted to everything and harped on it until you did it her way. That tendency to see what can go wrong is part of her legacy, most of which is wonderful. I suspected my daughter might be neurotic one day because of my worries. I didn’t care. I felt my first job was to keep her alive, I don’t apologize. And she had admitted, finally, to some fears about her safety and taking certain precautions. First she said this accusingly but then less so. She seems to understand, or has accepted the worries. I can live with that. 

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today it’s mexico

There is always something new for me to worry about with my 21 year old daughter. Just when i think the worst is over, there it is. This time she has decided to go to mexico city to visit her boyfriend who is working there for a couple of weeks teaching. He is Mexican so this should make it safer and she said they are staying in a nice part of town.  Our waiter last night said Mexico City has areas as safe as any nice part of any city like Los Angeles but I am not sure. Did she have to go there when they are just Id’ing the bodies of those unfortunate young people who were murdered, beheaded!, recently. This may spark some new drug gang fighting, just when they said it was still relatively safe there, but for the usual kidnappings of anyone with any money. Also I happened to read that teachers were blocking the road to the airport protesting the educational policies, when she was planning to arrive a couple of days later. If that wasn’t enough to worry about, they just had an earthquake. So she sent a text as promised, “I am here and safe.” But I didn’t know where here was, airport or where they were staying with friends, and we’ll hope for safe until she leaves on saturday. I’m sure it will be fine, but inside I worry….