My Dark Gift

I have a great imagination.

It has made it possible for me to write poetry and lyrics, short stories and novels, journal entries and satire, and have an amazingly rich inner life. It also assists me in coming up with the curvy, organic quilt designs I love best.

But it also has made me more anxious and unhappy than I would have been without it. My Dark Gift is the ability to take a joyful event or experience and pick it apart until a dark tangle of what-ifs is revealed. Then I focus on those what-ifs, following them to some inevitable conclusion (always bad) until I can't concentrate on anything else.

For instance: Little Mouse and her best friend are competing in the regional science fair tomorrow, which is being held at a college campus about an hour away. The Chief is taking her, and she will meet up with her friend there. As it is an all-day event, I shall stay home with the Barrister and the fur-children. And instead of thinking about how much fun she'll have, and how her dad is going to take her someplace nice for lunch, and that they'll have a great day together, all I can think of is car-wrecks and kidnappings. Or some disgruntled college kid opening fire upon the proceedings.

Intellectually, I know that they will have a great time, and everything will be fine. But I will be worrying about them all day.

Why does my mind do this to me?

Why can't I just enjoy life without always looking at the dark side?