Worry, worried, worrier
I can’t stop worrying. I do it all the time. I worry about whether I remembered to turn off the coffee pot (it turns itself off). I worry about whether my shoes will stay tied or not (I double knot the laces). I worry about whether my key will work when I try to get into the building at night (it really never does anymore). I worry irrationally and I worry rationally. Any way you look at it, I’m a worrier. I wake up in the morning with a sense of worry and go to bed at night worrying about all the things I hadn’t had time to worry about during the day. I just worry, worry, worry. I worry about what I’ve eaten each day (at this point, I should be able to just reward myself). I worry about what my friends think of me for leaving (they’ve told me they’re proud and happy for me). I worry. I worry about my grades (they’re way above average these days). I worry about my job (it’s going nowhere and neither am I). I just plain worry. At this very moment, I worry that I am spelling the word “worry” incorrectly (they all begin to look strange after a while). I worry that if I don’t stop worrying, I’ll worry myself into a state of perpetual worriedness and weariness (I probably already have).
