It’s been an emotional day. I finally reached the end of my rope and instead of hanging myself with it, I tied it around myself and anchored myself in a safe spot.
Something that’s hard for me is saying when or crying uncle. But in these days of my plate, well, runneth-ing over and the contents spilling like a chocolate fondue fountain, I am but a lowly suicidal strawberry — OK, marshmallow — floating under the surface that everybody forgot to grab with the “search and rescue” spoon.
In the space of a half-hour, I had a piece of pound cake tossed on top of me and I had someone come spear me and force me up for air.
Weird food references aside, I took a short walk (it was 76 degrees today!) and came up with a search-and-rescue plan. And presented it. And it was well-received.
Today was a day of meetings — about work, of course, but also about preservation. Of relationships, sanity and strength. The day started with polite death threats (no, not from THAT wacknut) and ended with the feeling of missing the anvil that Wile E. Coyote hurled off a cliff at me.
In some ways, I got nothing done today. Nothing that can be quantified, anyway. But a little dead part of my spirit found a pulse again. Don’t get me wrong — it’s faint and there are no guarantees. But with a little more nurturing, I think I’m going to live after all.
*whew*