Need to Get a Grip

I am going to drive myself crazy, but I come by the worrying gene honestly. The women on my mother's side of the family are notorious for taking a small piece of information and twisting it into the worst possible outcome, and they then pass that genetic trait down to their daughters. My partner constantly points out to me that I have more than a tendency to do this...He says I am a "glass half empty" personality, who is positive that the glass is emptying because of some hairline crack and we will all die from ingesting liquid with glass particles as all hope slowly seeps out through the unseen fault.

Well, maybe.

If I was late getting home from a night with my friends, my mom envisioned me lying on the side of a road or in the hospital. But then, my mother remembers going to the neighborhood pool with her ears full of the story about the little girl who drowned there, her body under water and her white hair ribbon floating on top alerting the townsfolk to what had happened. This meant that her mother and grandmother worried every minute my mom was at the pool, that she might meet the same fate. My grandmother usually called out "Don't trip" as I started to flounce down a flight of stairs. Who trips purposely, and how does saying don't trip prevent this sort of accident from happening? But I would be reminded of the friend of a friend's daughter who was a paraplegic from taking a nasty spill somewhere. I never thought these stories were true...but they planted little seeds in my brain, that activate now and then to steer me towards the dark side and on into El Diablo Mundo.

But anyway...here is a sampling of the worrying gene running my brain in unnecessarily circles of peril this week.

Incident #1 I had two bellydance classes in a row last night and then went out drinking with my friend and co-dancer, E. One of the reasons that I wanted to go drinking was worrying all week, over one of the women in our troupe with whom we have had some major disagreements the past few days. One of the dangers of working in an all female endeavor is that we occasionally get toxic levels of estrogen flowing in our systems with deleterious results. Our youngest dancer C had had a meltdown over us dancing to a particular band (like we had all agreed we would when we accepted the gig). She doesn't like or trust the band, despite that fact that her very capable partner and my partner (and love of my life), will both be playing in the band for us.

We got to a stand off where C might refuse to dance if we danced with the band, and B (who is in the professional troupe with the band) would refuse to dance if we did not dance with the band.

Oh my. This level of stress over a six minute choreography at our home studio??? It came to a 3:1 vote in favor of dancing with the house band. I got worried C was so upset, that I had her quitting our troupe and leaving the three of us to somehow pull off a dance designed for four. In the end C agreed to dance with us and the band and that was that. But I got so caught up in Le Drahmah that I got nothing done at work that day, because I was on the phone with the other members of the troupe or just in general obsessing while this all unfolded.

Incident #2 But, last night in the advanced class in which E, C, and I all danced, C seemed very distant and upset. She hardly spoke to me, and all the closeness I felt dancing with her at our practice Monday night seemed to have dissipated. I am biased towards the band for sure. I have been camping and drinking with those guys, and have known some of them from before the band even existed...plus my partner is in the band. I just don't see them as the lazy incapable losers that she does. C left without saying goodbye, and once again my mind took this to the limit. She hates me. She thinks I am a hack. She is so upset about dancing with the band that she is going to quit our group after the gig is over. I brought all this up to E over our Corona and veggie quesadilla at Ye Local Bar. E said that perfectionistic and very good dancer C messed up a lot when it was her turn to cue, and was pretty sure that's all it was. I wrote C this morning asking if she was okay, and she wrote a very sweet note back to me. She apologized for being "out of it" last night, and said she was just upset over not cueing that well last night, like E said. (Damn she's good.)

Incident #3 And so today, since I didn't sleep that well last night (because of the Red Bull I drank to make it through 2 1/2 hours of dance classes) I took a short nap when I got home from work. Then I woke up and groggily checked email. There was a note from E just saying CALL ME! and two missed calls from her. Well of course...something just terrible must have happened. My guess...C quit.

Um no. E was calling to see if she should buy me a ticket to the Enchanted Ball as it would save a $3 fee on the ticket charge. "Sure go ahead" I told her.

Incident #4 Last night when we went out drinking, E very nicely called her spouse to say she was with me and would be out late. I knew my partner was in band practice, and unless one of us would be really really late we usually don't call if a spur of the moment drink comes up. But when we were leaving the bar, I noticed my partner had called. As I listened to the message, I heard these words "I am at the police station....". He sounded tired, frustrated, and resigned. With those words, I was sure that his son must have gotten arrested again, and my partner was down there trying to bail him out or something.

Nope. My partner was hired as a consultant to redo the cameras in the interrogation rooms and one of the cameras was malfunctioning. It was past 11 and he was still trying to figure out why Camera #3 was refusing to do more than give the Blue Screen of Death. He didn't leave the police station till 12:30 am, and had to go back today to continue working on the problem.

So...E and my partner think I am nuts. Perhaps I need to meditate. Perhaps I need a few more years of being in my forties to mellow out and learn to say Que Sera Sera and really mean it when these things come up. At this rate, I am well on the road for all sorts of stress induced nastiness.