I spent time up on the roof today. I was neither contemplating flight nor looking for a frisbee, and I wasn't sulking. I was repairing some shingles in advance of the rain we're supposed to get tomorrow. I'll be amazed if my repair job lasts the night, given the way it's blowing out there. There's a lesson in there somewhere--something about the futility of human action, that we're doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over. Or something like that. I've not the energy to tease it out. On the upside, I didn't fall off the roof. I was also much better with the caulking gun this time when I set down the adhesive. I also learned that I need a heavier hammer if I'm going to keep doing that. It was a fitting end to yet another challenging Monday (which isn't over yet). In reference to which, here's a set of words that I'm pondering: sot, fool, gull, dolt, dunderhead.
Progress--meaningful progress--is painfully slow, shot through with missteps and stumbles. One of the continuing projects is the painful self-examination, the laying bare of my heart and soul to myself. No anesthesia, no distractions, no reprieves. The conclusion that's hard for me to avoid: I've just got to do better, somehow. Yet how that can happen when I'm mystified by myself and my own decisions is beyond me.
There will be no miracles, no fairy-tale endings...each triumph will be bought with tears & sweat.
Yet: the boys are in bed, the house is warm, the lights are on, and in the morning I'll have a job to go to. I have loyal friends and family who, despite my maundering here, will find things about me to appreciate, and will connect their lives with mine somehow. And that will be enough for tomorrow. Maybe to ask more is just being greedy.
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