Accelerants, Disaster, Disorder, and Malfunction

Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD):  An anxiety disorder characterized by excessive, uncontrollable, and often irrational worry; that is, apprehensive expectation about events or activities.  This excessive worry often interferes with daily functioning, as individuals with GAD typically anticipate disaster, and are overly concerned about everyday matters such as health issues, money, death, family problems, friendship problems, interpersonal relationship problems, or work difficulties.

I did make an appointment with an official, fee-based psychological mind-bender type person with a degree and qualifications unknown to me.  I think the timing is right - I've shelled out a chunk of money to return my teeth to fine mettle and some more money to get my poorly-circulated legs re-circulated.  I've been intimate with lots of needles.  Lots of needles.  Maybe my interest in a head person is based on the total lack of needles.

Some accelerants for GAD are long-term alcohol use, drug abuse, cigarette smoking, and excessive caffeine dependence.  Check.  Check.  Check!  Fucking check!

Disaster!

Disaster: An unforeseen event causing great loss, upset, or unpleasantness of whatever kind. 

Disorder!!

Disorder: (medical): A physical or psychical malfunction (Ed. Note: Malfunction, as it relates to human behavior, is an excellent word.  I can just hear a drill Sargent, face two inches from mine, screaming: "Seaweed!  What is your major malfunction!!")

Spandex told me a story once about his fear that he had some kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder, and that a professional interviewed him briefly and said: "Spandex, you're not OC."  The facts as I have related them may or may not be that accurate but this is how I remember the anecdote and, because the facts so configured have been helpful to me in telling today's tale, this is how I choose to remember what Spandex may or may not have said or what he may or may not have been told.

 And I think I'm pretty obsessive-compulsive but I also think Spandex is more obsessive-compulsive than me, and a doctor doesn't think he's abnormal.  This leads me to conclude that - once again - I don't have cancer.

I do, nonetheless, reflect on a life lived under the scythe of gnawing, slow-growing uneasiness.  It's not easy being uneasy.  It's sort of like having skin - it's hard to get rid of the stuff.  Worried about succeeding in school and work, worried about money, WORRIED about my health, worried about robbers and monsters and stock car drivers, I'm an equal opportunity worrier.

Maybe everyone is like that.  What do I know?  My head is so full of an all-consuming self-interest that I've got no idea what is going on with anyone else.  I listened to an ex-pat American in a meeting in Helsinki, Finland, opine that most people are living their lives under a constant state of low-grade anxiety.  He was probably right - it's scary out there.  Life is not a piece of cake all of the time.  I guess I should be happy with low-grade, non-specific, un-debilitating dread.

All of the careful readers out there will note that the real point of today's screed was to get as many hyphened words in play as possible.  I made everything else up.