Musings on darkness and reclaiming my time

It's 38 and rainy, dark... 

When I read the news (and I do that far too often), I am tumbled into despair. Well, not quite despair-- but it's close. What can I do? And why should we? The horrors are tangible. Somehow, the national and global angst is pairing up with my odd anxiety about turning 60 in June. Those who have already hit that milestone seem fine enough, but it's really a loud ticking of a clock I hear in my head. And I'm really angry that the time I have left is being bludgeoned by a cabal of evildoers. It just doesn't seem at all fair. 

Then I have to pull myself out of that cesspit of worry and "light denied" (Thanks, Milton), and figure out how to get one sock on after another. 

I have coffee. A warm home. A family that loves me, and even likes me most of the time. I have a job that I do pretty well, and I have friends/acquaintances who seem genuinely pleased to hear from me. While my health is not as good as I'd like, I'm still kicking. 

And that's a good thing. I am, in fact, still kicking. And I'm feeling a smidgen feisty about it. Why am I allowing people I don't know (and never would like to know) ruin my time on Earth? I've got to gird myself to reclaim that power. And I will. Over and over again, likely, but I will. Like the folks in Congress say, "I'm reclaiming my time." And,

"If winter comes, can spring be far behind?" 

(Thanks, Shelley.)

I'm very glad I have poets living in my head. I hope you do, too. 

Take good care, and love everyone you can.

C




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