I can't think of the expression, something about the hubris of making plans, having some kind of order to build one's life around.
There was a time when we could count on the seasons, man-made holidays and traditions to set our thinking on an orderly path. Now we wander.
I have piles of potential on the floor around the stitching chair as if keeping it all in view will have some effect on my mood. It has not. Shortly, I'm going to scoop it all up and shove it onto a shelf in the closet.
Worry is a pest. I only worry about things I can't control. Did I really write the word "only"??
And worry is as much a waste of emotional energy as guilt, giving or taking. Which path to follow?
Thinking about my friends in Florida. Elders that I'm too chicken to call because each time, my "How are you?" is answered by a 45-minute litany of medical gyrations.
Thinking of a dear friend battling cancer, Distant friends in fire danger's path. In the path of dementia, vile beast.
And my biggest fail. The past week has proven to me that I cannot do both. Work full time at night and be Charlie's copilot in virtual first grade by day. But that will be out of my hands shortly. His school opens on Wednesday.
I stand down.
Until I'm needed again.