It’s like, just when you think you’ve reached the edge of everything you can take. And then you realize, that there you are uncomfortable, struggling, wanting to give up; but, and this is important, you also realize you can handle it. I’m amazed at times at the resiliency of the human spirit and how much it can be pushed and just how far out there breaking points can be. Not that it’s always pretty in the reckoning, but at least the pieces are all still together.

I think that’s my way of saying I’m fine. It’s not at all what I was planning to say as I wove a metaphor around trucking on through life. But, it’s what poured out of my soul as I started typing and so there it shall stay. I finally started reading the Happiness Project while we were at the beach this past weekend. It’s been eye opening and I’m planning to finish it as soon as I finish here. It’s got me excited to start some steps to reclaiming my life.

B is gearing up for a long night tonight. It starts at 0200 and will go until sometime tomorrow afternoon. Ironically enough, it involves a convoy and him sitting around in a truck all day. I know that it’s one of his least favorite parts of his job. Sometimes, life is like sitting in a practice convoy. You know that nothing truly bad is going to happen and that it will end, but the tedium will make you wish that something, anything would happen to liven it up. Some days, life is like a real convoy, you hope beyond all hopes that it will be the most boring time of your life; but every second you’re prepared for the worst to happen. And some days are like preparing to convoy. You don’t want to do it. The hours are long and you just want to quit. But, when it comes down to it, the convoy has to go on and so do you. That’s where I am right now. There are a lot of things I just don’t want to do. But life must go on and I have to just keep trucking.

~The Countess~


About texancountess

I find myself in the calming roar of the sea, floating gently on the foam of the breaking waves. Blue. Green. Gray. The colors of the sea mark the boundaries of my soul. The tumbled glass finds its polish under the relentless pounding of the waves upon the shore. Thus am I. Rough transitioning to polish, refinement ever a process, finding my niche in the storms of life.
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One Response to Trucking

  1. Stereo says:

    My goodness but you’re so wise and this was so beautiful and I wish you lived closer ♥

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