If you know your Shakespeare, you’ll know where this goes.
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last recorded syllable of time..”
Shakespeare’s heroes weren’t thrilled with the concept that ‘all the world’s a stage’ that ‘everyone’s a player’, but I’ve grown to love it.
Especially when you consider yourself the author of the play. That one acceptance allows you to shrink the stress down into perspective. And even more importantly, it allows you to forgive yourself for fluffed lines, wrong stage exits (too early, too late?) and missed cues.
Can’t you just write it into the script? Consider it a massive plot twist?
I’ve been doing some talking therapy to get through some of the stuff that’s gone down over the past… how many years? Oh. The past forever!
It’s been helpful if rugged. Going to counselling is like going to the dentist and having a root canal without anaesthetic.
My jaw still aches.
But I guess it means that the disease has all been sucked up and drizzled down the sink with that strange vibrating toothbrush tool and now I can be certain the underlying problems – the real gum disease – has been rectified. Stopped dead in its tracks.
Even if I can’t stop bleeding.
But I will. Eventually. A little salt and I’ll be right.
One thing the counsellor has told me is to try and not react to the stresses, rather to try and claim back that objectivity.
It’s not easy. But it can be done. All I have to do is to consider this ‘tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow’ theme. It doesn’t frighten me, it comforts me. Life goes on, even when the crisis is over and others have moved on past their consolation and support. Life moves on, just as they do.
Just as we can too.
August is the last month of Winter here in New Zealand and already they’re selling daffodils and freesias in the shops. The bulbs I planted in Autumn haven’t yet raised their heads, but I hold hope that they will.
I can’t believe how fast this year has gone. Only four months or so till Christmas and summer. Strawberries and sunshine and swimming… surf washing over us, its gentle salt healing our wintery wounds.
Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow… the mechanical march of time reminds us to hold on to that hope.