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Prepare For the Worst

There's a train of thought that maintains that you should prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

To which I just have to call bullshit.

I think being aware of possible outcomes is useful, but preparing for them, at least for me, is a friggin' nightmare. For one simple prepare for the worst, I tend to obsess over the worst. And our brains, no matter how smart they might be, don't always know that it's a thought exercise.  So, the stress....the reactions....the thoughts, feelings, and emotions cause very real legitimate reactions as though the worst was, in fact, happening.

When you think about can be a pretty dumb thing to do.

Case in point, my former neighbors had a graduation party. A few weeks ago (maybe a month), they told me that my ex wife had also RSVP'd to show at this shing ding. being...well me... started running through all the scenarios of what would happen....what she would say...what I would say. Would we be civil...would it be weird. All that shit played out in my head as though it were real.

And it sucked.

Here's the kicker....she didn't even show up.

Am I disappointed that I wasted all those witty comebacks on a thought exercise? No. Not really. My body didn't know the difference. The cortisol in my system was still chugging around. I was in a weird headspace all day leading up to it. And then when nothing happened....when she didn't even walk across the was...I dunno....messed up.

It's like a bottle rocket. The packaging shows these massive explosions....the wick always sparks in an intense manner...then the FWOOOOOOOOSH!!!!!!!!! as it takes off in to the sky....and then bloop a pop.  It's not even as loud as you snapping your fingers.

It's this huge buildup to nothing.

I've determined that some people in my life are like that now. There's still some weirdness in my head towards these people. And the interactions that I've imagined are a thousand times worse that how it will actually go when I do  see them again. It's the bottle-rockets all over again.

Typically ex's are bottle rockets. Ex wife(s)....Ex Bosses....Ex Friends. People with whom I have taken umbrage at some point in my life. With whom the sense of closure was very much non-existent or the buroop of the bottle rocket. I don't know why that is. Maybe things need to fit nicely in to little boxes in my head. I'm not really sure.

Nor does it really matter. At 42 it's probably a good time to give less of a fuck about what people think of me. But that's the game of this world, isn't it? None of that should matter but we're conditioned our whole lives to buy in to external validation.

I would love to say I'm done with it, but it still seeps in. I go to the Blog admin page and see the number of page views daily. I guess I have to see which of my sappy random meanderings touched a nerve or which one I just wrote for me.

I'll let you in on a little secret. I write them all for me. It's cheaper than therapy.

Besides, it leaves more money to go get some bottle rockets.



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