1 in a 1,000

I'm positive that 100% of everyone I know looks at me as the coolest, most awesomely un-anxious person to ever walk the planet. But under this Hulk-like exterior sits a retarded pool of anxieties. I worry about more unimportant stuff than a six-year-old trapped in a well with no voice and only half a juice box left as rations.

One of my latest anxiety-fueled sleepless nights was triggered by this stupid movie:



While the movie itself didn't scare me when I first saw it, the idea of this happening has wreaked havoc on two outdoorsy trips since. While I was vacationing on the Oregon coast in a rented cabin I was triple checking doors, strategically hiding an ax behind the refrigerator (because, come on, what crazy-eyed hood-wearing psycho is going to check behind the fridge for an ax?), and forcing myself to stay awake in order to protect the people I was traveling with. I like the idea of my anxiety-ridden ass chock full of zero defensive training going up against a trio of crazies.

At the end of the week we all survivied, no one broke in.

My second bout of retardation happened in Colorado while staying in another cabin near the Crystal River. The place was very rustic and pretty awesome all around, except for the fact that I was sleeping on a futon directly next to a door that barely locked. Before I left on this trip I was asked what the chances of being murdered were at the cabin. I took a moment and thought about it. I was trying to come up with a number that wouldn't make me sound paranoid. So I said, "1 in 1,000."

This was not the answer my friend was looking for. So he said, "Out of every 1,000 people who stay at that cabin, at least one of them is murdered? Really?" Ok, so hearing it back made it seem bad so I upped it to 1 in 100,000. This was still not good enough though. He wasn't taking anything less than 1 in 1,000,000. While hearing that statistic (that we made up on the spot while drinking beer) made me feel better at the time, it did little for me while rolling around on a futon in the middle of the mountains.

So what's the point of all this? I think if I dip into this retarded pool every week and let everyone else know about it maybe I'll stop swimming in it all together.

On the other side of this coin, what if I start worrying about what everyone is going to think of me telling them about what I think? I need to go blog about this blog on another blog before the anxiety gets out of control.