Are you a worry wart? I'm a worry wart. I'm a worry wart on infinite amounts of crack.
When I worry my vivid imagination comes to the party and I imagine the worst of the worst. I can't help myself. Last night Jersey went to a meeting for trainers. He told me a general time (that I promptly forgot) and that he had found the meeting on Craigslist. (Sounded fine when he was safely in the car with me on the way to the grocery store.)
Back to yesterday: 9 pm rolled around and he still wasn't home yet from the meeting I thought had started at 6:15.
My mind: How can a meeting go for that long? How many sit ups can one person talk about before the audience falls asleep? Wait? This was on Craigslist?! Like...the Internet site on the World Wide Web where Craigslist killers live? Did he step into a trap? Was the meeting simply a ploy to attract good looking people with superior muscle tone? Are they now dissecting my boo into tiny neat pieces in order to study and mimic his awesome DNA powers?! Is he dead? Where is this meeting? If I text him to scream will the killer read the texts and laugh to his cohorts that there's a girlfriend out there with no clue?
Ahhhhhhh! Go to bed Tish. Pray that he's not dead. Pray that his balls are still in tact.
Jersey walks through the door.
My mind: He stayed gone THAT long and didn't call?! He didn't send a casual text to say hey the meeting lasts for this long?!?!? "Don't worry. I'm not dead. The Craigslist killer didn't in fact kill me."
...I want to kill him! I want to rip off his balls. Can't even talk to him I'm so mad. Can't even LOOK at him I'm so mad.
Ironic, ain't it?