Friday greetings, friends,
I used to think that, when I was about to die, I would ask to have all the time I’ve spent waiting at traffic lights back so that I could extend my life by a few months but I’m beginning to think that having my ‘worrying’ time back would be a better option. I would get years instead of months!!!!!!!
I’m not sure why we worry, perhaps we kid ourselves that we’re in charge of everything and the responsibility gets to us. Or, perhaps we realise that we are actually in charge of very little and that thought gives us cause for concern.
I remember one evening when my then young son was having a bath whilst I was catching up with the hundred and one jobs that had to be done. After a while I went to check on him and could hardly see him for bubbles. They’d even run out over the edge of the bath and had made big pools of water on the floor. This was the last straw for me and I told him that I didn’t have time to mop up floors on top of everything else! He told me to calm down and said that I worried too much. I explained that it was all right for him he didn’t have anything to worry about. His answer has stayed with me for the rest of my life. He said, very calmly, ‘I could worry if I wanted to Mum. I choose not to.’
Bob had had trouble sleeping all his life because he worried that there might be someone under his bed.
As a boy, his mother would stay and read to him until he dropped off but, when he left home to live on his own, he could find no way of solving his problem.
His work was suffering through his lack of sleep so his boss advised him to go to a psychiatrist to get help.
Bob went reluctantly, but was surprised when he assured him that he would be cured of his fears if he came to see him every week for a year.
Several weeks later Bob met the psychiatrist whilst out walking. The psychiatrist greeted him warmly and commented that he was looking much better but he was disappointed that he hadn’t booked any further consultations with him after his first visit.
‘Well,’ explained Bob, ‘I worked out that, at £100 a visit, it would cost me £5,200 for the year’s treatment
and I was telling a workmate about it and he offered to cure me for free.’
‘Well you certainly look well and rested, are you sleeping Ok now?’
‘I’ve never slept better,’ smiled Bob.
‘I’m intrigued, what was the cure?’ asked the doctor.
‘He came around to my flat and sawed the legs off my bed!’
Love to you all, wherever you are and whatever you’re doing,