"It's a beautiful May Day."
-- Ofglen, The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood
Ah, May. The month of change -- plants sprout, school winds to a close, and we hear echoes of the anniversary of the Unmooring. New pressures and requirements and projects (which we cannot discuss in detail) have emerged, and must be tackled. I confess that I undertake them somewhat unwillingly, even if they appear to be for the best.
For the best.
For whose best?
What is best?
Depends on one's point of view, I suppose.
The needs of the many in the household outweigh the needs of the one. I am the one; and so I carry a heavy load: a disproportionate share of the worry, of the compromise, of the listening and the reassuring and the encouraging and the helping and the doing.
I am overextended.
I want to crawl within myself, to hide.
All I can do is persevere, on this beautiful May Day.