BothersomeThings

It’s not even the end of August, and I’m depressed about the onset of winter, and seasonal depression.

I agonize over every dollar I spend.

I feel poor, and I feel guilty for feeling poor, because I have a lot more than a lot of other people.

I always donate a dollar at registers if they are collecting for a cause and they ask me; I don’t donate if they don’t ask.

I tell myself I shouldn’t worry about what other people think of me, and I act like I don’t.

I worry about what other people think of me.

I think the people I work with think I don’t like them, because I come home for lunch instead of spending money on takeout.

I’m worried that one day they will stop asking me if I want to order anything, because I never do.

I have anxiety about silly things; I have a hard time ordering at a drive-thru if I’m not very familiar with the menu.

I’m anxious about meeting expectations; I worry a lot about “performance metrics.”

I’m going on a cruise and I’m more anxious about money than I am excited about going; I’m worried I won’t enjoy myself.

I worry about the cost of alcohol on the ship. I’m worried I won’t be able to drink what I want; I’m worried I’ll drink too much.

I’m on the nicotine patch again.

I’m afraid I won’t be able to quit smoking; I’m afraid of continuing to smoke.

I’m afraid of cancer.

I’m anxious that nobody will read this.

I’m anxious that someone will read this.