I am a chronic worrywart. It's quite unfortunate, and unfortunately true. I swear I haven't always been this way; memories of my childhood are rather carefree, as I recall. But, tragedy of tragedies, my life is no longer that way. I haven't the slightest idea what changed my point of view, but all that matters is it changed, and now I worry.
By now you're probably wondering what it is I worry about. Well, about my future and my schoolwork and my schedule and my relationship and my eating habits and my . . . list goes on. Sometimes I worry so much about so many pointless things that I stress myself out almost to the point of tears. Thankfully, it doesn't get that bad that often, but it has been known to happen. I honestly wonder how my roommates put up with me some days.
Today was a worrisome day, and the saddest part is that I wasn't even worrying about anything important. But if there's one thing I've learned, it's that it doesn't matter the size of the problem; I am still perfectly capable of worrying about it. As I sat stewing on my couch, I received a phone call. And the person on the other end of that phone call made my worries disappear. It was practically magical, and I felt inexpressibly better. So today I'm grateful for phone calls; sometimes they're just what I need to turn a bad day upside down.
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