Until I began blogging, I thought that I was weird but had no idea why or how.
Why did I feel awkward around other moms? How did I survive this long without being arrested?
These questions plagued me, and blogging has truly helped me to hone in on the problem.
I’m paranoid. Militia paranoid.
Like when my neighbor doesn’t wave to me EVER — I think back to the thank you card I gave to them. It was written on that back of our Christmas card. I had extras. We had just moved. I think: Is that why they’ve never spoken to us again? Or was the gift that they dropped off supposed to make us conservative as well as welcome us? Or maybe he has a bad wrist?
Or when I come to the coffee shop multiple mornings in a row — are they judging how much I spend? Is $6 plus a $1 tip enough to justify 2 and a half hours? I never stay when it’s crowded. I tell me friends about the place. But do they KNOW that? I’m thinking of tallying it up and leaving it in the tip jar. I’d title my excel sheet: WE’RE EVEN, RIGHT?
And my paranoia is even in the simple things — I can’t leave my wallet, iPhone or computer at the coffee house table when I have to pee. And I have somehow developed an 80-year-old’s bladder so every 30-60 minutes, I pack up all my belongings except for one thing that I’m okay with the other patrons stealing (because if I don’t leave that they will totally steal my seat), and I hustle it all into the bathroom. I pee. I come back to my seat, and I unpack everything. I even wonder if someone will spit/spike my drink, but bringing my coffee into the bathroom is even weirder than wondering if someone will spit in my drink.
I often ask myself whether I should just leave my stuff behind like exposure therapy for spiders and snakes, and I will eventually become desensitized to the paranoia.
And then I picture my life without my computer and I’d rather be paranoid.
But I do appreciate my friends’ efforts.