"Winnebago County is under a severe thunderstorm warning. Your house will be knocked down."

I'm naturally a worry-prone person.

If I have any amount of control over a situation (and "miniscule" is "any amount"), I tend to panic for split seconds about all the mistakes that could've been made, things that could go wrong, worst-case scenarios and the like.

Tonight, it was "oh my god, if I'm not torn to pieces by this impending storm, I will most certainly regret buying a house, because I'm sure it's laying in messy piles all over the county."

Because this is how a rational person would react to seeing an approaching thunderstorm.

I know, I know, it's not like we don't have insurance. It's not like it's the worst thing that could happen to me (I could find out I had some terminal illness, and then get hit by a bus -- but not killed -- on the way back to pick up the pieces of my broken house, after all). But I realized: I care for this house like I care for ... well, most of the belongings that are irreplaceable.

You can buy a new copy of Billy Joel's complete catalogue (and I would), but you can't replace the house. You just can't. It smells like old house. It's been painted in colors we like. It has a big dirt pile outside that we'd take care of if, well, we had the time to go buy a shovel and some grass seed.

And insurance just can't buy that kind of stuff.

So when said storm rolled in, my stomach was in knots thinking that, obviously, my basement is flooded and some electrical shortage will cause my house to catch on fire, or else it'll be struck by lightning.

And where did all of this worry get me? Listening to sirens outside (not at my house!) and a problem complexion. My sheer worry must have scared away the storms. I'm sure of it.

FUN FACT: When I was in Ohio (and probably here, too, but I don't remember the last time I listened to a radio station), the recording that would read the weather was (allegedly) from the '80s, and legend had it that the man who lent his voice to the National Weather Service was actually murdered. To add insult to an unlikely murder, we would laugh at the man in the recording for talking like he was getting punched in the stomach: "There is. ... A seVERE thuu-uhn-derstorm wahr. ning. In effect. For Putnam .... County and Allen .... County uuuhn-til (deep, slow voice:) 9 (quickly:) o'clock. P. .... M."

Creepy.

(Photo: Look! I made lightning in Photoshop. Now I too can be lumped into that "why, oh, why" category.)