Letting Go

The garbage truck squeaks to a stop and rumbles outside our bedroom window.

Pops and squeaks of squishing trash pulls me out of my sleep haze. I should be happy to get up. The birds are chirping, the breeze smells like spring and I can spend the day however I want.

It would be nice to spend it right here, under this blanket with nothing but the top of my head poking out.

I pushed and fought and raged stubbornly against being housebound for the past three months. Now the opposite has happened –I’m a little nervous.

Going back to work seems psychologically daunting; and because of the crappy treatment I received at the hands of the upper echelons, I’m even more reluctant.

I’m an excellent employee, of that I have no doubt. I know my job well and I love what I do.

But as the doctor allows me more and more leeway (short trips to work and errands) the more I want to hang back and go slow.

Ironic?

No matter. This too shall pass.

All negative feelings, all positive feelings are ever changing. I must keep remembering: Let Go My Dear.

 

 

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