This image is me (a few years back on my honeymoon) with a Little Uglys Chuckanucka. He hangs out on my desk at home. Here is his description: "You know what? Chuckanucka. That's what. Chuckanucka worries about pretty much everything under the sun: What if the phone rings when I go out? What if the mailman tries to deliver my Deluxe Ugly Earmuffs when I'm in the bathroom? Hey, I don't remember leaving the closet door open just a crack like that! What if I can't ever stop thinking about my name over and over? Chuckanucka!"

Pretty much I AM Chuckanucka. Especially when I have a lot of time on my hands, which has been the case lately. My brain is in overdrive. Even when I'm sleeping it makes me have dreams about things I worry about: Last week I dreamed that I was ordering office supplies and wanted to make sure that everything totaled up correctly. Two nights ago I dreamed that I was consulting with a group of supportive gay friends about what color and cut are best for my hair. My brain doesn't get to leave the spin cycle ever. I plan everything -- I worry through every possibility.

But why? What does this worrying accomplish? It must serve some purpose for me or else I wouldn't do it.

I think in some ways it prevents me or protects me from taking action. I worry, research, and plan, thinking that I'll keep on until I feel like I'm ready to do whatever it is or decide definitely that it is not for me. My top worried-about plans lately have been losing weight and returning to Bulldog. Prior to my surgery, I thought of the recovery time as a transition into a "better me": I would rest and relax (at last!) and then I would 1) transition to a more active life with a daily exercise routine 2) eat better 3) lose weight and keep it off 4) work on stress reduction through daily meditation and just having fun. Sounds awesome!

But instead as the days have worn on and the pain pills have worn off, I've mostly just worried and then watched TV. I've worried about what to eat -- Paleo? Weightwatchers? Or just eat healthier and focus on portion control? Worried about whether Bulldog is too much (despite my earlier postings) -- should I just walk/run every day and save money? Join a gentle gym (okay ladies, pick up your 5 lb weight carefully...)? Go to a yoga class? And I've planned -- by researching relentlessly about too much exertion, what exercises folks *really* stick with, eating too little, eating too much gluten, eating too much protein, not eating adorable cows and sickly chickens, reading what Oprah says about becoming the real me, finding my true calling, dealing with stress like a star, blah blah blah. Endless searching for justification, motivation, that last key to finally unlocking the magical door to doing something at last.

I don't think I'll ever find the key before I open the door. In fact, the key IS opening the door. (Whoa, I think I just blew my own mind.) Instead of opening the door, I am mired in overwhelmed inaction that leads me away from the door and to the couch with some comfort food and the TV for some numbing time. Once I'm numb, it's usually time for bed (Hey, I don't remember leaving the closet door open just a crack like that!).

This isn't the life I want for myself. Time to stop all of this thinking, thinking, thinking and do. Chuckanucka!