Once I was driving on a dark night. I felt the pain pitchforks (also commonly known as headlights) of oncoming traffic in my temples even though I'd taken Advil. I was trying to sooth my temples with public radio and it almost worked, but then, right as a pretty song of love requited finished, BAM came Belle and Sebastian singing, "He had a stroke at the age of 24." Please find and judge a snippet of my internal dialogue below.
How old am I?
Check.
Headache?
Check.
Despite the Advil?
Check.
Does Advil enlarge the veins or thin the blood?
Blast! I'm done for.
I don't know why this happens so often. When it does, I ask Sean what I think are a line of logical questions, I check Web MD and then I become convinced- I never feel like I'm convincing myself- that several serious illnesses find me too attractive not to share and eat my organs.
Beyond how exhausting it is to use Purell after touching anything that's not Purell, and beyond how much it must suck to be my boyfriend sometimes, beyond all that, I am realizing that the worst part of this constant worrying is the preoccupation with myself that it demands. I read a Real Simple article a while ago that sort of brought this up. The author listed a bunch of "ridiculous" things she does that I do too (of course I stop breathing when I pass someone who just coughed...sorry I'm intelligent). Then she said she was tired of looking inwards instead of outwards. I thought, well, I'm on board. 100%. I don't want to be self-involved! I don't like that idea, even though I have a blog, at all. No way. No how.
But then I see this and my fear of brain tumors/aneurysms lands in the brain like a tumor or aneurysm. This is one of the reasons I will always fear brain tumors/aneurysms. Because this is what happens...when you're LUCKY.
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