The last couple of months have been so brutal I’ve come close to admitting failure. So brutal I’m not going to mention them.
(Aside from saying my health is good, and it’s just been the kind of highly-charged, highly-stressed everyday messiness of life.)
It reminded me 2017, when my mother died, and something Kristine Kathryn Rusch wrote around the time.
We’ll all spend some time on that floor wondering how the hell we got there.
The key is not that we’ve fallen, not even how long we remain on our knees with our hands hiding our faces, but how many times we’re willing to get up.
Kristine Kathryn Rusch
It’s bloody hard when you’re lying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling (that needs painting), wondering how you got there.
Not just that, but whether you have the strength to get up one more time.
Whether you might be better off admitting failure.
Just give up.
Put it all behind you.
Except I’m bloody minded. I don’t admit defeat. I don’t want to accept failure.
Forever (ever… ever… ever…)
So, quitting just isn’t an option.
Like 2017, I’m crawling to my knees, nudging Clever Girl out of the way and climbing back to my feet.
And like 2017, there’s going to be some changes.
Because I don’t want to die with a full to-do list.
For more Haiku, click here.
Shortly after posting this, many readers got in touch to check I was okay. And I am.
I’m not getting rid of my house, husband or dog. The change I’m looking for is simply making space.
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