I stress when there's nothing to stress about because I'm so ready to prove that I can handle stress.

I think I’ve told you I’m pretty good in a crisis. And if I haven’t, well…I’m pretty good in a crises.

At least the major ones. I’m fairly adept at “getting things done” in a hurricane, tornado, family death, and so on. Little things, though, little things get me but good. If I lose a tennis match, or misplace the car keys: watch out.

I’m not sure why this is the way it is. It doesn’t really make much sense…or does it?

My wiring is designed for disaster. (That’s not really a good thing, either).

But, when things settle, or there comes a long period of dormancy (i.e., this past couple of weeks), I tend to stress. I possess this remarkable ability to give myself a high fever when I’m stressed. That’s not much in the way of a superpower, I know. But, it’s still kinda weird, right? And that’s kinda cool, right? 

Truth is: I stress when there’s nothing to stress about because I’m so ready to prove that I can handle stress.

Figure that one out.

I’m veritably sitting at my desk, hoping Hurricane Bill shifts course. It’s crazy. Since that’s not likely to happen, I have had to put my focus on other, equally unlikely events occurring, in or near me, two of which you’ll read about below. I’m always obsessing over finding some issue to concentrate on (one that I usually exaggerate beyond its actual potential), as if at any moment, my phone will ring and Obama will ask,”Ok, Kris, I’m listening. What. Do. We. Do. Now?”

“I have an answer,” I’ll say, “and it’s not pretty. This is going to hurt, O. Big time.”

For the record, only four people have called me on my new office phone since last Thursday. (And no, my Mother wasn’t one of them. Nor was Obama, for that matter).

So, as this is one of my current quiet periods (and one I’m sure I’ll remember fondly), I’ve had to dig really deep, way way past topsoil level, to find at least three things to worry about. (U.L. would be proud. Though, no one can top that man in terms of ridiculous things to obsessively stress about. He’s still worried that one day I’ll sneeze too hard and give myself a stroke, while simultaneously expunging an eyeball and go blind. Something like that happened to both Aunt Ru and “Cuddin” Willy, he thinks he remembers).

First of all, I’m seriously worried about the Swine Flu, Pig Pox, H1N1, or Hiney Virus, whatever it’s being called these days to save the pork industry. I don’t eat meat, so I’m not worried about that name change, but I am worried that I’m going to get it. I keep seeing all these headlines touting numbers and statistics, followed closely behind with a story about how there aren’t enough vaccines available.

I mean, considering that I stress myself into a fever, as it is, they may not be able to tell the difference between that and the real Swine Flu. Which, of course, means I’d be both overmedicating myself and stealing a much needed pill from someone who really had it.

My other two concerns are just as vital, to me, though I’m sure less pressing nationally.

I watched on NatGeo the other night (did you like how I through that abbreviation in? This is where the English language is going. Get ready. Bc b4 u no it, we wont uz nythng els. & idk bout u, but i ANSICLWRW). There were two documentaries, back-to-back, because when it’s about nature or some other such fantastic subject matter, I can’t tear myself away from the TV.

The first documentary was all about the Africanized Honey Bee, or AHB, and some slight PC-backlash about equating its nickname, the Killer Bee, with the Mother Country. Silly, trite, and all that, but I suppose also necessary. Although, me personally, I’ve never made the connection. I was fascinated by the aggresive tenacity of this patient and angry insect.

Did you know that when they attack, they emit a pheromone in their venom that alerts the rest of the hive? Then, of course, they all attack, which is what eventually kills its victim. And yes, you can do like in the movies and run for water, but be warned: AHBs have been known to hover and wait for up to eight hours for its victim to re-emerge.

They showed a map that tracked the AHBs from South America, in the 1970s, to Central America in the 80s, and eventually, the USA in the 90s. It’s made fair headway in every state in the southern half of the USA except one: Mississippi.

Well, of course, after hearing that, what was to stress about?

The second documentary, however, was frightening: Fishzilla, also known as Frankenfish. The entire episode was about this invasive species of fish known as the Snakehead. It’s infiltrated American waterways, specifically the Potomac, though I was under the impression that the Potomac was mostly uninhabitable (I wrote a poem about that, actually), but either way, after watching these Wildlife and Fisheries agents comb the rivers for this predator, I was left in little doubt about its ability to do the most basic of instinctive behaviors: survive. And survive well.

This fish will mate with anything, eat anything, attack anything, and is technically, if left alone, going to destroy the civilized world as we know it. They adapt, mutate, transform, evolve at what seems to be an alarming rate.

They’re smart, too.

Thinking he would dispel a myth about this foreign animal, an agent with the Maryland Wildlife Department did an experiment where he locked several Snakeheads overnight in a deep tank, with one corner a little looser than the others. When he returned the next morning, they had all foudn the weak spot, took advantage of it, popped through it and had slithered to the door, to escape.

See, they can also walk on land and breathe air, through a primitive lung. 

If it weren’t for my weak kidneys, I could have learned how they first infiltrated our waterways. I couldn’t wait, though, and so all I heard was something about a Korean man and a gift to his sick sister. Somehow, that translated into a Snakehead.

Some of them have been reported as reaching a length of over 5 and 6 feet; plus, they have teeth. (You can’t have seen this, but for your FYI, I just shivered).

Maybe we’re ok, for now. The closest water system to where I live is the Tombigbee River, and I wouldn’t set half a stranger’s foot in that, anyway, so I guess we’re safe.

Of course, now that we have “Sunday Sales” for alcohol in Starkville, I wouldn’t be one bit surprised if I found a Snakehead walking to Old Venice after church.

And, if I do, that’s fine, just fine. He’s still not sitting by me…unless he’s paying.

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