I’ve been driving for a long, long time today. Which gives me a chance to think, referee the cage fighters in the back and worry. I am a great worrier. By the time I’d got, not to Phoenix, but to Bridgwater I was having a hissy fit about the expense of running two cars and the need for one new, fast and German car.
I have, in fact, worried enough recently to crack a tooth through teeth-gritting. This goes on in my sleep as well, hardly surprising given my recent dreams have comprised the death of my neighbour from my bathroom falling on his head and my needing to choose between two death jets between London and somewhere oop north. Which got me thinking – why am I so tense?
The answer is simple. There is even a mathematical theory to explain it. My twenties were lived as per the Chaos theory. Easy come and easy go, the biggest concern was enough funds for a big night out.
Now my life looks like this:
I love my ducks, but chaos was less risky.