My writing has made me a little paranoid…

which isn’t a bad thing. I think. Here’s the situation. My son needed a ride to a friend’s house on a weekend morning, and like every weekend morning, I like to lounge around (after writing…I’m up early on weekends too out of sheer habit). 9:30 rolled by, and my son appeared out of nowhere to inform me, “It’s time to go.” I was dressed in a pair of shorts, a sweatshirt and Birkenstocks (no socks). Without donning a jacket, I dutifully jumped in the car and drove him. I didn’t plan to get out of the car, so why would I need a jacket or shoes? On the drive home, my brain started to come up with SCENARIOS, and NONE of them ended well for a man dressed in shorts, a flimsy sweatshirt and sandals, on a 25 degree morning.   I spend six months at a time (longer for my first book, The Jakarta Pandemic), researching, creating and “playing out” one worst case SCENARIO after another. Not surprisingly, it has left an indelible mark on my thought processes and awareness.  We had our first “sticking” snow this morning, and after a brief, “I love winter” sentiment, my mind went somewhere