Worry Wart

It's something that my mother has been saying forever, but really, I'm starting to think that I really do worry too much, and it's starting to get me down. For instance, this weekend, I worried about:

1. My impending haircut

2. The completion of a project that absolutely had to get done and in the mail by a certain time

3. An invitation I had to turn down

4. This vaguely threatening letter I got from my dental insurance people

And now, I have the haircut (and it just keeps getting sassier with each passing day!), finished the project, turned down the invitation only to be met with great understanding, and straightened out the insurance situation. One would think that I would have learned my lesson about worrying, seeing as how every single thing I worried about this weekend turned out just fine, and in some cases, actually great. But instead, I have simply shifted my worry to include:

1. The imminent distruction of my upcoming vacation to Wilmington by that hellhound, Ernesto. Curse you, Ernesto, and all your windy fury!

2. My inability to answer all the requests placed on my blog for the "all request and dedication post" (some famous fictional dinner partners I would enjoy-- the Invisible Man from Ellison's Invisible Man, Mrs. DeWinter from Rebecca-- or, better yet, Rebecca herself. Some weird foods I have eaten since grad school-- salmon, monte cristo sandwiches, mozzarella cheeseburgers)

3. The Department of Education's malfunctioning website, which will not allow me to post my student loan payment online, meaning I have to mail it in, meaning that the check will inevitably be lost, resulting in my first ever late student loan payment, and probably my deportation from the country.

Et cetera.

Honestly, there probably isn't a day that goes by that I'm not worried about something. And it's often something stupid. I once agonized for an entire day under the belief that a girl I knew hated me (which makes no sense, since I didn't do anything to make her hate me, and didn't actually even like her very much, so what did I care if she hated me?), only to be curiously vindicated when she smiled at me in passing, thus assuring me that she didn't hate me at all.

Is this normal? Do the rest of you worry this much? Has my obsessive worrying worried any of you in the past? Please confirm my general normalcy, so I don't have to worry about that, too.

And by the way-- if you want to see something worrisome, trying doing an image search on Google for the word "wart." You'll see why I went with this anxious, slightly menacing looking woman, who, if you look at her in the right light, looks a little like a red-headed Brigitte Nielsen.