Anxiety is useless. I can’t think of one practical application for it. Worry? Sure. Worry helps you get things done. It can get out of hand if you dwell on it too much, but it has its benefits. Fear is much the same. In sensible doses, it makes you take action. Anxiety doesn’t have any of those benefits. It’s there just to stir up mental trouble. It’s there to use the worst parts of worry and fear, and even well-meaning hope, to turn your insides into an angry electrical storm.
Maybe it’s just me, though? Maybe I’m missing something about anxiety. Maybe there’s a legitimate evolutionary function for it. I don’t know. All I know is that anxiety has never helped me, and I doubt it ever could.
Well… not unless I had a lump of coal in my forehead.
Now, when I say “in,” I don’t mean under the skin, I mean in there like a third eye. Half rooted into my head, half exposed. You know, for convenience.
Because if I had a lump of coal in my head, when the heat from all those anxiety lightning strikes rose in my body (as heat does) and radiated up my shoulders onto my neck and spread up the back of my skull and fingered itself around into my ears and my cheeks and seeped up to burn my nose and eyes and then kindled itself within the slight dome of my forehead, the coal would catch fire. Then I could grab it with a pair of tongs and pull it out and put it in the fireplace, and heat my living room for hours.
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