“The TV volume must be on an even number – this is nonnegotiable”

Anxiety’s purpose is to alert us to potential threats; certainly in the Stone Age, I can see how useful a good shot of anxiety could be when a tiger is approaching your cave, or perhaps a rival caveman is eyeing off your good grain-grinding rock.

As an anxiety sufferer, I’d be keen to have a stern word with my brain that none of the things it’s currently worrying about are life endangering. I wish my anxiety would just rack off, maybe we could evolve away from it, and anxiety could go the way of the appendix or the wisdom tooth? Maybe future generations will be able to merge lanes without holding their breath?

I’ve started to wonder if it’s just me who has these niggling and agitating thoughts? Here are a few of my yucky thoughts that are on high rotation – I’m taking a personal risk sharing these here, so thanks in advance for your kindness.

I won’t use size 13 font when I’m writing a document – why risk it, hey? Stay safe from any potential bad luck with gigantic size 14 or teeny size 12. I’d like to get on the phone to Microsoft about my idea for a size 12.99 font, however, I would need to practise first.

Before making business calls, I have a little run through in my head first – a rehearsal of a chat with the council at 3am never hurt anyone, I always say.

I know I worry too much about paper towel shaming. When I wash my hands in a public bathroom, the amount of paper towels I’d ideally like to use is three. However, if someone else is in there, I only take two paper towels – so I don’t look like a towel hog who hates the environment.

Even the simple task of writing an email to Microsoft with my idea for size 12.99 font, can be nipped at by anxiety. If I make a mistake typing a word, I have to delete the word in its entirety, then write it out again in full.

I can’t let the microwave beep when it’s done. I race over to press stop before it finishes, otherwise I’ve lost the unspoken race that the microwave and I were in. Same with the kettle, I will get that water in my cup before it flicks off. I’ve always done this, there’s some small dopamine release in my mind when I beat the kettle at its own game. Do I need a hobby? Well, sure, if I was exhausted from triathlon training perhaps I’d care a lot less about the activities of my kitchen appliances.

Speaking of appliances, the TV volume must be on an even number, this is non-negotiable. My favourite is 22, should you be trying to impress me.

Travel is the bain-marie that keeps the anxiety pudding warm. While driving, I make up words or phrases from the letters on the number plate in front of me. I also add up the numbers – if they’re easy, that is. When flying, I choose the aisle seat so I won’t disturb anyone if I need to get up to go to the toilet.

Another fly in my anxious ointment is account balances that aren’t a round number. $598.64? No thanks, I’ll transfer $1.36 to an upcoming bill so I have a more pleasant number to look at.

Finally, I always tap the lid of a soft drink can a few times, because I read it stops them exploding. I don’t know if it’s true, but it’s worked so far. Can’t hurt to keep tapping soft drinks for the rest of my life, can it?

There you have it – a little peek behind the curtain of my top paddock, even though it’s annoyingly not in my favourite size font.