There’s not much I’m really good at – writing, researching… uh, that’s about it – but if overthinking were a sport, I’d be in with a good chance of being national champion. I’ve been doing it for pretty much as long as I can recall (being an only child might have had a bearing), and it’s only got worse with age. The curse of an overactive imagination, I guess, but there are times when my ability to spin a narrative, usually increasingly gloomy, out of a few bare unconnected facts – or even the absence of any facts – has not only surprised me but also caused me no small mental anguish. Have I ever been proven correct ? Yes, a few times, but overwhelmingly all that’s happened is that I’ve needlessly upset – and occaisionally made something of a fool of – myself. You’d think that after all this time, I’d know better but… evidently not. I guess that’s just how I am. On balance, probably better than feeling nothing at all, but, sometimes…
