Long time pessimist that I am, I have a tendency to jump to the worst conclusion in any given situation… IMMEDIATELY. Yesterday we couldn’t get hold of Mr K’s Gran who is in her mid 80s and currently residing alone and my first instinct is that maybe she’s had a fall (the steps are rather bad at her place) or maybe she’s had some other injury and will be found three days later by an Energex worker checking the meter readings half eaten by Alsatians or perhaps someone has broken in and assaulted her for the ten bucks little old ladies tend to have in their purses or maybe she’s run off gotten a tattoo and joined a biker gang. Well okay, maybe not that last one but you see where I’m going here.
I tried to call my Mum to see if she wanted to join us for dinner tonight and we left several messages on her machine and tried her mobile but got that annoying ‘the person you are trying to contact has their mobile phone switched off or is not in a mobile service area’ tripe. Seeing that she’s been away for the weekend up the coast I immediately think she’s had a car accident or maybe she’s stuck on the side of the highway somewhere with a flat tyre and I find myself fervently hoping no opportunistic sociopaths happen to come to her rescue so we don’t get a call in the morning telling us she’s dead in a ditch somewhere. Of course the reason she is unable to be contacted is thankfully far more mundane – vacuuming and couldn’t hear the phone and her mobile battery was flat.
Unfortunately this happens to me ALL the time. If Mr K tells me he’s going to be home around 1745 and if he hasn’t walked through the door by 1800… I’m already envisaging his mangled corpse and twisted bike frame wedged up under the rear wheels of a semi-trailer on Wynnum road and cursing that we never arranged that additional life insurance policy…. or other equally gruesome unfortunate scenarios in a similar vein. If a doctor tells a friend they have ‘need tests to investigate that strange whatever’… I’m immediately preparing for hideous life altering news. On the two occasions where our dog needed to be rushed to the vet (one for a paralysis tick the other for an accidental ingestion of rat poison)… my initial reaction is to mentally prepare for the likelihood that we might have to euthanize the poor pup.
It goes on and on and on and it’s exhausting. Barely a day goes by when I don’t get a horrible sinking feeling that something crap is about to happen. And the worst of it is not so much that I’m just such a cynical pessimist chick who’s always waiting for the hammer to fall (and always has). No the worst of it is just how fucking crazily creative and detailed my little brain gets when I start thinking like this. It’s not just ‘dead in a ditch’ it’s a full blown episode of CSI or Bones that’s going on in my head