I'm fine, why?

If you ask me whether I'm worried about something, I'll usually say no. I don't mean to lie. It's just I regularly cohabit with such a wealth of preoccupations that a little extra does not seem worth mentioning.

The fact is, I'm distressed by the size of my waist, the shape of my knees, the dryness of my elbows, the asymmetry of my eyelids, the angle of my forehead. I slave away over my skin and hair and eyes, and never feel very good about them at all. I worry that people loathe me for taking long, scrupulous showers and being a smelly lump of oil anyway. I know some people have one outfit, but I have a hard time appreciating my wardrobe because surely people disapprove when I have to wear the same shirt twice in one week.

I worry that I'm not worthy material for a job at McDonald's, let alone a profession in social work. I worry that if I need to make change for customers, I'll never get used to it. I'm afraid I'm going to be one of those grown-up kids who don't move out until they're kicked out. I know I'm going to cause a brutal car accident eventually. I wonder how each person will reject me in his own way when word finally gets around that I'm not good at anything.

I worry that I use too many words to make my point. I worry about insulting a professor by doing badly on a test. I wonder when my professors will confer with each other and finally give up on me, when the Dean of Students will stop smiling at me, when she will ask me whether I'm using substances or having trouble at home.

I worry that I'll never be mature enough to be married. I fear that my husband will love me a little bit. I wonder whether I'll really be able to stand up for myself or sacrifice for his sake. I worry that we'll have differing opinions about sex and that he'll be right. I feel sure most of what I cook will be burned or slushy or both, and he'll opt for Chinese takeout when he can.

I wonder how I could ever get through pregnancy and childbirth. As I watch parents, I say to myself, "What a lack of discipline!" and "When I have a kid, I'm never going to talk at him that way," and all the while my gut tells me that when the time comes, I will be Monster Mom.

I live a couple of minutes from an airport, but since I was a kid I've got a sick feeling when a plane passes low overhead. I worry that scientists will succeed in their attempt to impregnate a man. I wonder when a comet is going to crush one of our continents. I worry that communists will overrun the country and put a ban on mascara.

I worry that my voice is loud and nasal, and I worry that I irritate people when I speak softly. I wonder whether I should stop making jokes, since people don't get them. I worry that I talk too much, don't reveal enough, and don't listen well. I doubt I'll ever have a conversation with more than two people at once and walk away feeling good about how I handled it. I feel I should adhere more closely to others' expectations, and I'm horrified by my capacity for bootlicking, fakery and cultural absorption. I sometimes doubt anyone actually likes me.

I feel like I'm too boring for children, too slow for people my age and too frivolous for people who are older. I feel like a prodigal spender who doesn't know how to have any fun. I want to believe it when someone says I can do something, but it's so much safer to let people set all kinds of limits on my potential-- you know, just to avoid being cocky. I consider myself a hardened criminal in disguise, and when asked whether I've ever committed a felony, I scour the darkest recesses of my memory-- just to be sure.

Sometimes I think I'm the only person in the history whose personality has no upside. I worry that my part-time laziness is an indication of what truly lies beneath the corroding surface of my character. I fear my acts of kindness just keep me from realizing that I am completely selfish. I'm scared I'll never change. God help me.