I care about other people . . . . and I often worry too. I don’t always show it but issues affecting others often take up cerebral space and is incredibly distracting. I need all the grey matter I can get just to compensate for the 'affluence of incahol' and the onset of menopause, mad multi-tasking at work, household management, property negotiations and a number of other distractions that deserve my full attention.
Instead, I get all twisted and concerned. I get all anxious and obsessed. All care-bear and worry-wart over the silliest of things.
I get concerned about not keeping in touch with good friends. I have a number of people over on the Northern Beaches that actually care about me . . and I’m lucky if I talk to them once a year . . .pathetic.
I feel guilt at having forgotten to ring my brother in law the other day to wish him happy birthday despite the fact that I know he’s never selected a birthday present or called me in the 30 years we’ve known each other.
I worry about people I’ve never even met . . I read about your lives, trials and tribulations, talk to some of you, email others and have actually met a couple . . I feel involved and it touches me. (In a good way) but sometimes, I think I might have gone too far . . .
I worry about my chicky babe travelling around the
I worry about my little lad and his inability to hang on to cash, form a budget or prioritise his spending habits or whether he’s going to break his back on a 40 foot motocross jump!
I worry about my ever-diminishing line of credit as it pays off an ever-increasing mortgage and no signs of developers swanning up to the front door with a briefcase of money.
I care about clients when things go wrong. I’ve lost sleep over share trades, lost forms, slow redemptions that might impact on the settlement of a flat or the comfort of someone going into Aged Care . . .these people have no idea that I get churned about their welfare.
I care about offending people with my straight talk and no-nonsense unsolicited advice. Believe me, I often do and without meaning it. Sometimes it saves lives . . other times it reduces once quite intimate conversations to recipe swaps.
A friend once said “Why the fuck to you care what anyone thinks.” As if I am asbestos coated with an ashphalt inside, some sort of rare exception. I don’t know why but I do. I’m an empathic soul with an enormous capacity for affection and a little experience which can sometimes be of help in Agony Aunt situations. I also get a bit upset if I think that others don’t care about me . . . yeh, yeh . . .I’m needy . . .but it’s better than not giving a damn.
. . .and I haven't even started on politics, the environment, the plight of the oppressed or my own eventual demise . . . .
What do you worry about? Don't want to share it publicly, then email bainbridge1610 at the g-spot.com. I will be happy to give you unsolicited advice and empathise with your situation or provide you with a good telling off!