We're hanging on by a thin thread as it is, she says into the cloudy space of our apartment, the tired, last dregs of a space that has nothing left to give. We are running on empty. The to do list runs long, the inbox bursting at the seams and a hundred different countdown clocks ticking, why do they all feel like bombs about to go off? From every direction come cries of despair, everyone is at the end of their rope, looking for any morsel of hope, or light, or joy, and no one has any to give.
What a beyond crazy year. What strange, dark magic roils around this year, what absolute tar we have had to drag ourselves through. Is it any wonder we are barely still here?
(but we are here. in some shape, however beat up and beat down, we are here. just hold on a little longer, just put one foot in front of the other. spring will come, as it always does. be here then, and we'll take it from there.)
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