My Life, As Told Between (Baby Cakes') Naps

So after a year of dating and three months of living together, I’m afraid poor T is finally confronting the Crazy. I do a pretty decent job of keeping it hidden, with only hints of it peaking through ocasionally – enough for friends to poke gentle fun of but not enough to face full fledge ridicule. But it’s there nonetheless. Lurking. A messy bundle of anxieties and neurosis beneath my laid-back, casual demeanor.  Most of the time I do a decent job of guarding it, but sometimes, something gets it going and it makes a break for it.

The most often sighted manifestation of it is my tendency towards hypochondria. I’m convinced I’m going to die at the slightest sign that something’s out of whack. T is the opposite. He’s convinced that the words “I’m fine” will defeat any and everything, no appointments, pills or follow-ups necessary.

After a particularly persistant cold, T finally went to the doctor’s recently. While there, he had some bloodwork done that showed a slight anomoly. According to the doctor (allegedly), there’s nothing to worry about just yet. I, however, am convinced it’s something horrendous and have been worried all week, although I’ve managed to keep the Crazy reigned in fairly well. Until yesterday. While doing some research on what the anomoly could be and discussing the matter with friends, I became absolutely convinced T has a (relatively rare) genetic condition (completely unrelated to the anomoly) based, mostly, on the fact that he is tall and lanky.

T pointed out the pesky detail that he didn’t have any of the other symptoms. As if that matters at this point to the Crazy. We’ll both probably continue to press this issue until he either caves and goes to see a specialist or firmly convinces us he really doesn’t have any of the symptoms. At least the Crazy’s retreated enough for me to see that perhaps it’s premature to start making a list of all possible ramifications of the condition and drawing up a plan on what steps to take to deal with the ramification. Besides, I’ve got to go back to worrying about the anomoly. . .