Being a worrywart

I am currently travelling in the US, and I like travelling, however, I’m the kind of person who starts to get worried on the way to the airport or to the station about whether I had actually locked the door to the flat or not. Did I lock the door? Did I? Am I sure? Sometimes I am even tempted to go back, just to check that I had locked door, even if that would mean missing the flight or the train. Sanity – so far – has prevailed, and I have not acted on that urge. Even during a trip, as I currently find myself, I am constantly plagued by the thoughts that either my modest dwelling has been burgled, or burnt down, and untold disasters await my return. The former – burglary – has happened, but the latter – fire – thankfully not. For some reason, this unfortunate tendency has been growing stronger over the past few years. This worry is not entirely irrational, in that I could conceivably have forgotten to lock the door, and there is a possibility that my flat is burgled, or albeit less likely that the whole block has been burnt down. Perhaps I enjoy the feeling of great relief as I return home, and there has been nothing untoward during my absence. This personality trait is not something that I like in myself, and I am sure it is a nightmare for those who are on the same trip as I am. Now, did I really lock the door? I’m not sure.