What it takes to let go and not worry

I spent almost half my weekend being a lazy couch potato. Apart from running errands and spending some quality time with my (almost) baby daughter, I spent my weekend glued on my TV, watching the series “What About Brian?”

Addicted --- is an understatement. I was already suffering from migraine, what with the 8-hour non-stop marathon. I still can’t peel myself off my couch!

There’s something fascinating with a “lost” man (Brian) who so passionately runs after women he can never have and shuns away equally-fascinating women who likes him. Add to that men’s Peter Pan syndrome of never wanting to grow up and move on.

Actually, I am the girl-type who gravitates more towards Brian’s best friend, Adam – the golden boy – blonde, athlete, lawyer and drop-dead G. I prefer men with foresight and ambition. Being gorgeous --- is merely considered bonus points.

So there I was --- spending my weekend lazily, sans either direction or motivation to do anything productive.

All this, was done, by choice.

My deliberate choice to be hypnotized by the conundrum of complicated, albeit fictional lives of TV series characters was my (pathetic) way of coping… and denying that I am for the most part – worrying to death.

And missing someone terribly.

He travels a lot. That is his way of work and life. Two weeks will not pass by without him flying off to Manila, Taiwan, Bangkok… and now France to meet his clients and to attend conferences. That is just how things are. That is how we met. And this is how the relationship survives.

Call and think of me as paranoid --- but wouldn’t you feel the way I do?

Every time he boards the plane… I cannot help but worry about him. It’s not about him meeting someone else (unless there’s another more fascinating woman who will sit beside him in business class and topple over that animated conversation over wine and steak circa 2006). I’m fortunate and blessed to be with someone who does not possess wandering eyes.

I do worry about his safety. Enormously. When he gets on the plane and gets off. I cannot help but wonder if the Universe will play me this card. Yet I dread its mere thought.

This morning when I awoke, I frantically logged on to Cathay Pacific to check his flight status. He was leaving Paris to come home. My heart skips a beat when I see that his flight is delayed. And I pray, pray, pray. Relentlessly. Bargaining with God on the things I can give up in exchange for his safety.

This is how I feel every time.

And last weekend, the resolution to be catatonic in front of the television for hours and hours on end is my way to survive the weekend without worrying too much.

I realized, this is the first time that I ever talked about this. He doesn’t even know that I feel this way – how this saddens me and how it occasionally brings me to tears, how lunacy can win over logic. All because I care for someone, and the thought of losing them frightens the living daylights out of me.

He will travel. Again and again.

That should explain why I have Will and Grace’s Seasons 1 to 8, Chuck’s Season 1 and how I am starting to hoard CSI New York.

Better than Prozac.