I am like the most normal person I know. Sure, I have all the baggage that comes with a 28-year old single gal, but I’m pretty normal. So it comes to no surprise that I worry and over-analyze. I worry that I won’t have enough money to pay for my sick car, if indeed it is sick (tomorrow is the dr. appt). I worry that, even though I love my job, it’s not the highest paying job in the world, and I might have to leave it so I can get more money so I can pay for my car. I worry I’ll never be able to sell my condo at a profit. I worry that I’ll be single forever (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing…but I feel like i should probably get married once…just to try it out!). So I worry and over-analyze and get myself into a funk that makes driving home in the windy snowstorm all the more depressing. And I check my mail, only to find nothing. Depressing. And I walk through the door, and Ollie doesn’t greet me at the door, waits in his bed for me to rub his belly. And as I’m changing out of my depressing boots that need new heels, into my dog walking pants, and Ollie is stretching out on the rug like he’s just woken up from a deep restful sleep. And I’m sitting there thinking, man, it must be tough to be a dog…and then he starts running back and forth through the hallway, excited to go out. He’s running into walls and my recycling bag and can’t seem to sit still. And suddenly, I find myself smiling. I find myself laughing at my freaking adorable dog who is just so excited to go outside. And then I realize…my dog might be the best antidepressant ever.
