But Still Going

I'm moving, preparing for visitors, taking care of some hardcore personal/practical arrangements, covering responsibilities for a vacationing coworker, and generally about three lines away from losing the fucking plot.

But okay. Okay.

No stress is worse than being dead. That I'm alive to be able to be stressed is better than the alternative. There's that. I won't forget it. Sound morbid? Maybe. But it does the trick.

And there's this: the older I get, the more I live, the more I can look back at a growing list of what I've gotten through. The stuff I didn't feel like I could do, get through, get past, whatever. Yet, somehow I did. I always did. Somehow, some way. I've got more and more past examples to look to that suggest that I will get through this too, whatever this may be. My own history provides me with the strength and confidence to keep going.

Slowly.

Fitfully.

But still going.