I come from a family of worriers.
My great grandmother, called ‘Downstairs Nonie’ because she lived downstairs from regular Nonie, would freak out on trains when she thought too many people were moving around the cars. She was convinced something was up and no one was telling her.
My grandfather, the late, great Bob Spotswood would cross the Golden Gate Bridge and worry aloud, “Where are all these people going to park?”
And my baby brother used to nervously knock at my bedroom door at 3am, pajama clad and whispering, “Bethy, I’m worrying.”
But my father and I have got it the worst. We’ve actually bonded over this obvious mental illness, sharing the same exact knot in the stomach, the same exact pre-dawn fret, the same exact 4am Brandy while distracting oneself with a book. While we worry over different things, (Dad: illness, Beth: serial killers), the sensation is genetic.
So of course, this morning at 2am, I shot out of bed;
Convinced I’m probably dying, feeling bad I haven’t called Andy back, concerned over the sun porch lightbulb outage, livid I can’t find my favorite shoes, regretful of drunken horrors, wondering what the hell to wear to Kevin Nealon, amazed my cell bill is so high, fretting over tomorrow’s big meeting, unsure as to where I parked my car, feeling guilty for blowing off the gym, terrified I’ll die cold and alone…you get the idea.
I eventually rolled out of bed (unable to even read my book I was in such distress) and I convinced myself that the tiniest bit of TV might help.
I searched my TiVo and found “The Office.”
Oh my god, I went to bed before The Office, which is on at 9. I am lame.
So at 2:30 in the morning, I watched tonight’s episode.
I’ll be honest. I’ve tried drugs. I’ve tried booze.
But it turns out, you know what makes me forget my troubles?
Oh, just a little show called The Office.
Before I knew it, I was laughing hysterically, swooning over Jim, desperate to join The Finer Things Club.
I actually said aloud, “Thank you, Office. Thank you.”
I shall now return to bed, falling asleep with a little smile on my face. My worries pushed to the back of my brain, saved for another night. All because of a little thing called American prime time programming.
Thank you, Office. Thank you...