Sunday, February 27, 2011

Grab Onto Any Old Log Floating Downstream

I have been so violently ill through the night and morning that trying to shake a lousy migraine has been impossible, and I have so much to do today.

I get so frustrated being this ill. I just don't understand why my health won't improve long enough for me to get something done. It's miserable when you can't be around people because the nausea prevents you from speaking, when your head is pounding and you can't focus your eyes on anything.
When all you really want to do is curl up into a fetal position and sleep. When opening your eyes in the morning is the very last thing you want to do.

Someone won the $184 million dollars - and it wasn't my boss. My mother has always said that when you have tried every route to save yourself in a raging torrent, and desperation sets in, you will "grab any old log that floats downstream." My boss didn't win the lottery - again. That log wasn't buoyant. But a few million to one odds seems to be the same odds I am facing no matter which direction I turn.

Back to the drawing board. The same drawing board I have been sat at for four years.

An old single wide house trailer needing renovating. Metal barn roof on the ground, building material sat waiting to be used. No utility poles to get the electricity turned on at the property. No idea how it has all managed to survive this winter. Not quite enough money and no help. No idea WHERE the building fund disappeared to... but Robert & Sylvi Huckins know where it is.

The weather this morning was fabulous. 44 degree's, a little windy, but nothing like the forecast we braced ourselves for. By 11 am the cold front came bringing high winds and sleet, dropping the temperature by 12 degrees in less than an hour. Winter hit with force prayerfully for the last time this winter.

I'd like to think that I can spend a wet cold Sunday trying to do something constructive, but I know that I'm going to start to worry about the Ford350, and the trailer house, and barn and along the way the whole lot will snowball and my cup will runneth over.

As I sit in this garden shed listening to the storm the only truth I know that lacks confusion, debate or that I am simply exhausted.

A voice is a human gift; it should be cherished and used, to utter fully human speech as possible. Powerlessness and silence go together.~ Margaret Atwood