Someone I care about a lot spent most of the day Sunday in the hospital waiting for test results. Of course, I spent the day worrying. Thankfully, the tests showed nothing wrong, so I stopped worrying. For about a minute. Now I’m walking around with a low grade terror and waking up with bags under my eyes that make me look like a cross between a shar pei and Eleanor Roosevelt. Now as anyone who knows me, or reads this blog, knows, I am a veteran worrier. I’m gonna worry unless I have complete and total assurance that there is absolutely, positively, conclusively nothing wrong, and nothing bad is gonna happen. Well, that assurance, if it comes, is pretty much a lie. No one can ever know what’s coming, good or bad. We can plan and prepare. We can eat healthy and reduce stress. We can floss and exercise and look both ways before we cross the street. But while we’re keeping an eye out for an out of control bus, the sun gets in our eyes, blinding us so we walk into a pole and fall into a manhole, never to be seen again. Let’s face it, bad things happen, whether I worry or not. And meanwhile my life passes me by and before you can blink an eye, I’ve missed the good because I was too busy waiting for the bad, and I’ve got bags under my eyes that are gonna cost me.