Snow is dusted lightly over car roofs and tree limbs. The gradual ascension of morning brings light to a new week. The last one was dreadful, and I am glad to bid it adieu. Despite the optimism that accompanied the jump into October, November has become a month riddled with mistakes.
My life, of late, has been defined by the mistakes I've made. Backs are turned, cold shoulders thrust forward, fists raised. Supreme disappointment greets my every turn. I have stepped back into the Postmodern Dystopia.
A week ago, I found myself confronted with the phrase, "Look on the bright side, it can't get any worse." That statement was premature; it got much worse. My life was described as "spiraling out of control" by the only person whose opinion really matters to me. Last week, I wore the bullseye; each day signaled a direct hit.
But I embark on this week of togetherness and goodwill with an agenda and renewed motivation. I will catch up. I will find my bearings. I will relax.
I remain confident that I can once again extract the glowing ember of optimism, fuel it to a blaze. If only I had the bellow.
I am cold. Soon I will be warm.