I’ve always been a worrier. It goes with the depression. You know, like a supermarket promotion, ‘two for one,’ ‘buy one, get one free.’
I worry about everything. Life. I worry about Life. I don’t worry about death. Not since the suicide attempt. No fears about death.
She was gorgeous.
You know when you’re 17 years old and life has started to become complicated? When responsibilities begin to creep in and tug at your sleeve, and whisper, “Attend to me. Listen to me.”? I didn’t want anything to do with them – still don’t, (says the old git, on his second marriage, second house, responsible job, good salary,) I fucking hate responsibility.
She had deep blue eyes.
Music was my sanctuary, my port in the storm of life. I could wrap myself in my albums, my stereo, my headphones, and escape the world of responsibility.
When I say deep blue, I mean Atlantis deep, submariner deep, ‘you’ll get the bends’ deep.
You know, deep blue.
I swam in those eyes. For two and a half years, I was an Olympic swimmer in those eyes. Mark Spitz? Probably Duncan Goodhew.
Nearly twenty years after climbing out of that gorgeous, seductive blue water, a song lyric taught me a good lesson. I try and live by it, but the worrying, the anxiety get the better of me.
But not everyday.
Today, I won.
“Most things I worry ’bout, never happen anyway.”