I think, therefore I am ... what?

It's exhausting being me. And not in a good way. Not in the I-have-all-these-fabulous-things-to-do-and-places-to-go-and-body-parts-to-be-refurbished way. It's more in the I-am-going to-think-myself-to-death way.

I'm what you would call an over thinker. I over think everything. Including this blog post, probably. But that's besides the point. I spend so much of my time thinking and re-thinking, that I end up thinking myself into a corner; unable to move from the sheer thoughtiness of it all. Yes, I'm quite sure that is a word.

Take, for example, this one time Fred and I were driving somewhere. It was quite a drive, and I was unfamiliar with our surroundings. At some point in the trip I turned to him and asked, "are you driving me out to somewhere remote so you can kill me and dump my body?" Okay, I was totally joking when I asked him this, but the way my brain got to there was this:

"Hey, I don't recognize where we are... where did he say we were going again? I haven't seen another car in ages. It's pretty isolated out here. Lots of trees and wooded areas. You know, this would be a perfect place to take someone if you were going to get rid of a body. Fred's been pretty quiet, I wonder what he's thinking about. Ohhh look, a squirrel! Wait, maybe the reason he's being so quiet is because he's plotting my murder and he's trying to figure out the best spot to leave my body."

I think I have Mr. King to thank for thoughts like that swirling around my cranium.

I can blame my insomnia on my tendency to over think things. I lie awake at night dreaming up scenarios that could happen, and what I would do to get out of them. The other day I asked Fred if he ever thought about what he would do if our house caught fire one night.

His response? "Whatever would I do that for?" Fred doesn't really talk like that. Only when I recount a story in my head does his diction take on a much different sound. He also has a British accent and uses words like "fortnight". Anyway, my point is, I do think about these things.

Obviously, it would depend on where the fire broke out, and if it was blocking the stairway. I would, of course, run heroically into Elise's room, grab her from her crib, and open the window in her room. I would then use a bed sheet from the linen closet to scale my way down from her second story window, with her strapped to my back with another bed sheet. I guess I would have to throw Fred and the dog out the window first, since they are utterly incapable of planning an escape of their own.

If Fred and I were superheros, I would be Miss Meticulous and he would be Fly-By- The-Seat-Of-His-Pants-Man. I am the stick-in-the-mud to his flapping around like a paper kite. I usually slow us down with all my thinking, and Fred? Well, sometimes he doesn't slow down enough to think.

But somewhere in there we have found balance, and it works... for the most part. I always tell people that Fred's strengths are my weaknesses, and vice-versa. And we're the same where it matters. I could get all over-thinky about it, but for once, I think I'll leave it alone. I will say this, God really knew what He was doing when He gave me Fred.

I guess you could say that Fred completes me. No you can't... not without me vomiting all over you because that was so, so lame.