May Day

Herself speaks.

"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. 

I cannot. 

All I can do is persevere, on this beautiful May Day.

M'aidez.