Fretting is like aerobics for the mind.

So my dad’s going in for surgery at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.

This is insane, but I might as well tell you: this surgery seems impossible to me; I mull it over and read up on the gory details and every time I end up feeling altogether poorly about it. And here’s the crazy part: it’s because I can’t figure out how such a surgery is possible. Are you with me? If I can’t figure out how to do something, it stands to reason that no one can. I don’t know when I got so egomaniacal, but there it is. Operating on a heart! Who ever heard of such an insane act? You need the heart at all times; you don’t go fiddling with it. Much less opening it up and sticking pig parts in there.

If I were a surgeon, I’d be in the operating room saying things like, “Okay, let’s just, you know, start cutting this nice person open, and—hold up a minute here, I have to vomit for an hour or two. Okay. No, I’m good. No, wait, still sick. Wow. Didn’t think a person could vomit out through their eyes, did you? Well, we all learned something today. You know what? This whole surgery thing doesn’t seem right to me at all. Who’s for lunch?”

Obviously we’re all grateful that I didn’t pursue a medical degree.

In general I tend to be unable to relax when I’m not in control. You should see me in a plane. I’m the one in 34F, flying the plane with my mind. It’s not easy but someone has to do it, and what, I’m going to trust those drunks in the cockpit?

In conclusion, I am insane. Thank you. I have to go fret now.