So yesterday morning when I was out running, I almost stepped on a dead rat. I was coming around the corner and there it was and I had to do a little leap to avoid landing right on it.
No biggie, right? Oh, yes. Biggie. I couldn't stop thinking about the stupid rat. I couldn't stop imagining what it would have been like if I hadn't noticed it (I'm often more than a little oblivious out there) and had stepped on it. I kept thinking about how it would have squished, how I would have slipped, how the hair and the guts would have been embedded in the tread of my shoe. I had to stop running and do some deep breathing because I was literally making myself sick.
I got home, showered and headed off to work, but my stomach would not stop rolling and I could not stop imagining the squish and the crunch and the guts and the hair and the slipping and the smell. I was so nauseous that I had to go home and curl up in bed with tea and toast.
It was totally a case of too much imagination. I rarely have this happen (although I'm realizing now that this is sort of related to last week's post about the abduction on the bike path). I always feel like life is so crazy that I don't have to make anything up. This time . . .definitely too much 'magination. Have you ever sabotaged yourself that way?