“Why are you worried? There’s no need to worry,” He said.
“Would you want me to be any different than I am?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t change a thing, except that you worry too much.”
Does it count that I worry about the right things?
I don’t worry about whether He loves me. I won’t worry about whether our relationship will last. I don’t worry about whether He has forgotten me. I don’t worry about whether He thinks I’m beautiful. I don’t worry about the future. I don’t worry about whether I look silly in fishnet thigh highs and hooker heels (anymore). I don’t worry about whether He’ll appreciate a picture of my naked body or my wet pussy.
I worry about whether the people I love are safe and sound. And with the distance between us, I worry about Him more than He would like.
I realized at 6:00 p.m. that I hadn’t heard from him in nearly 24 hours. For the record, that’s the longest we’ve gone without some form of communication. At first, my rational self said that it was work. Then I thought it might be that He was with His children. Then I remembered that He hadn’t been feeling well and if He had to work under those conditions, He probably didn’t feel like doing anything, let alone talking.
None of my demons reared their ugly heads.
The irrational fears that came over me had nothing to do with me or us. But they were definitely irrational.
What if He’s been in an accident?
What if He’s so sick that He can’t even get to a phone? And He’s alone and hasn’t called someone to help Him?
What if something happened with His family and He had to hop a plane in such a rush that there was no time to let me know?? (You know, because when you arrive at the airport, the plane is sitting on the tarmac with the engine running waiting for the random passenger who needs to leave in a hurry – yes, I get it, it was irrational).
I called Him and left a voicemail, trying to sound casual but my worries were beneath the surface.
“So, heeeeyyyy…I was thinking about you….I know you’re crazy busy or you’re with children or something’s come up at work…but I’m worried…so when you get a chance, just let me know you’re alive…so, I guess I’ll talk to you, ya know, whenever!” (I like to always end voice mails as noncommittally as possible.)
What I needed to hear was, “Stop being a silly ass, I’m fine, dammit!”
Less than 30 minutes later, I got what I needed.