Anxiety.

I'm a worrier. I love to worry about things and wonder about things and plan things out. Once I was done Christmas shopping I started wondering what was left for Tom for Valentine's Day? And Ryan's birthday is in May, so what had we forgotten that we could get her then? I get told constantly just to stop over thinking things, or to quit analyzing everything. But I actually like thinking about the future. When I can't sleep, I lie in bed and make lists in my head of what Ryan will need to bring with her when she goes off to college. In 6 years. I make grocery lists and try to pick colors for when/if Tom builds a room in the basement. I try to imagine my grandkids and what they'll be named, and will they climb the willow tree Tom planted in the yard last spring. Will the tree even make it through this winter? Did he plant it deep enough or will a storm blow it over? See, I worry. But I kind of like it. So when I'm blathering on endlessly about random crap, rest assured that on some level, beneath the panic and abject horror, I am happy.