Another Funny Thing

Anxiety:  Boy, it sure seems like I've already looked this one up.

I also wonder how inexplicably my anxieties vanish, blown away like dust in the wind.  There they are, burrowing deep in my mind, sinking their intractable claws deep, deep, deep, and then . . . they're gone!  I guess since they're not real they don't have to follow any of the normal rules of logic or physics or semantics.  Having an anxiety is like talking to yourself: the conversation is pretty much up to you.  Sometimes I take an action that helps but when I'm tilting against imaginary foes anything can happen.

I was tooling down the road today musing on the most ancient of my favorite anxieties -- my health -- when I took a call from Shorty.  There is some nasty shit being passed around this winter and he has had a hell of chest cold.  I mean, the guy sounds bad.  Like most alcoholics he tries to solve his difficulties alone, relying on tremendous willpower and legendary intelligence, until the difficulties appear insurmountable.  He finally asked for help from a physician, and when the help he got didn't work immediately, he became convinced he had some kind of rare African fungal infection, lifted from a rare African mango that he handled but didn't buy, and the fungus was lodged deep, deep, deep in his lungs, scarring them irreparably.

Really, it's amazing how this thing works if we just keep talking to each other.