Sometimes I wonder whether or not I’m worrying about the right things. I don’t necessarily worry about it, but I wonder. What if I’m investing most of my emotional stores in issues that lack the prominence others consider ‘important’? Somewhere within every person’s psyche is there a bin individually designed, sized and erected to house one’s anticipated worries? Is this worry bin capable of accommodating extra worries at unforeseen times? Does it have a lid to keep the worries from spilling over into the other bins designated for love, hate, fear, sadness or guilt? As the worries pile up on top of the other worries, do those trapped in the lowest reaches of the bin eventually start to break down due to pressure and weight of the others, into a worry-mulch? Is there a pressure control valve on the worry bin that keeps the lid from blowing off and contaminating the other bins? And if the worry pressure relief valve does open due to abnormally high pressure, where are the surfeit worries sent? Are they merely re-cycled like the great zero discharge treatment plants, and re-introduced into the worry bin when conditions permit, like when your kid finally graduates from college after only eight years and you no longer have to worry about whether or not you’ll be able to pay the tuition next semester? Are the worries in any manner quantified as to intensity and/or importance and assigned a level in the worry bin? Does the worry bin need periodic maintenance to insure its structural integrity and if it does, what does one fix it with? Is there an affordable service that can be contracted to dump one’s worry bin, just in case he decides to hell with it, I’m starting over?   So much worry, so little time…