The truth is, I’m barely holding my head above water most of the week. I’m treading furiously, no time to ponder my fate. But Sundays are a day to reflect. Everything I needed to get done and didn’t lands heavy on my chest on Sundays. The outlook, stretched forward a week, a month, a year, five years, looks bleak.
How long can someone tread water before they go under? I don’t know, but I know I don’t want to find out.
Seeking comfort, clarity and hope. Also, a cleaner house, some money in the bank, and a hand to hold.
Everything seems very far away.