Tuesday, November 15, 2011

I Plan on Firing Anxiety (Here is How it Will Go Down)

With the seasonal temperature shifts, I sometimes find myself feeling an explicable anxiety, a gnawing, ill-informed nervousness that follows me like I'm a heat lamp. I'm thinking of getting rough with it, cutting this anxiety loose, like in those sad boy loves animal movies where circumstances force him to tell it to scram despite every bone in his body hating the act of severance with the confused creature. 

Well, I wouldn't  feel so bad about telling anxiety to get lost. I just have to sit down and do it. I want to be a creature of comfort.


Me: Mr. Anxiety, please take a seat.

Anxiety: I'm very busy...

Me: I'm not asking.

Anxiety: Fine, man.

Me: Listen, there's no easy way to put this, I've lost a lot of sleep over this, but we all deserve a peace of mind-

Anxiety: Cut the bullshit.

Me: Funny way to put it, that's what I'm asking you to do!

Anxiety: I don't like jokes, sir.

Me: You were assigned to me at birth with the intent to protect me by alerting me to real predatory dangers. Things change, the world we operate in develops down strange paths, and we take on new challenges, complicated challenges.

Anxiety: I haven't taken my break yet today...

Me: You'll get a nice break. Fact is you work too hard and you've hijacked your purpose. You're sounding little alarms all over the place, distracting my departments, dissolving all real resolve of mission, scattering priorities, depleting adrenal resources.

Anxiety: I work harder than anyone else!

Me: Yet you're ignorant to the fact that you've derailed everyone else's ability to work! You're holding this operation back!

Anxiety: I'm sorry you're not pleased with my performance.

Me: Worrying hasn't been an effective strategy. I'm sorry, Mr. Anxiety, but I'm letting you go.

Anxiety: Fuck you man! What will I do now?

Me: Evolve. Your severence is this shot of whiskey. Here. Drink. Relax.

Anxiety takes the shot, glares at me, and gives me the middle finger.

Me: Leave the door open on your way out. I like the breeze.

Fade to Black.

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