HMS Endeavour
I'm making a valiant attempt, really I am. I don't know how to approach this stage of life: the part where we all realise things are never going to be how we want them to be, and wait to see who's going to die next.
Conventional wisdom is, I guess, to count my blessings, and I do have blessings. Some of them are obvious, some of them quiet, private benisons. I do have good times: further apart than I would like, but wholly, entirely, completely good. These days are the oases in the desert, the oxygen that keeps me going through the in-between.
Walking is both survival and metaphor. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Tick and tock and tick and tock.
I've forgotten what I'm counting down for.
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