It's only Wednesday, but already I feel as if this week has given me much more than I want to take. Last week I felt as if I was taking on the world; this week I feel as if the world is laughing hard in my face.
I'm trying to remind myself that this is ok. That next week, or maybe even the rest of the week, may well be much better. It's ok not to know my place or my sense of purpose. It's ok to feel as if everything is failing, falling like sand through my fingers. It's ok to be tested and to see how far I can be pushed. It's ok to not understand why but to avoid asking anyway, just in case. The future is wobbling like jelly; decisions will be made and some of them will be hard. Some things will be out of my control, others will be too much in my own control. This is life. Life is, in fact, pretty hard at times.
On nights like this I feel I am allowed to wallow; I have the house to myself. It's ok to cook in a dressing gown. It's ok to heat up a tin of soup in an unwashed pan every once in a while. It's ok to go to bed at 8:30 with a mug of Ovaltine and a favourite poetry collection.
Actually, maybe it's pretty wonderful to feel like this every now and then.