He wiped his face with his handkerchief, for he was quite warm from the exertion of being Chairman of the World. It had taken more running and leaping and sliding than he had imagined. (from Stuart Little by E.B. White)
My memory fails me sometimes and I forget how easy it is to steal the throne of control.
But it's too big for me and I don't fit well inside it.
The happenings assumed with the throne (that once seemed so easy to manage) have shape shifted.
Shifted their shapes and shocked me.
They are heavy, they exhaust me, and I am exhausted.
Flummoxed.
They are beyond me and I am beyond Him.
Or He's beyond me?
Maybe I liked being confused and complaining.
I think I'll switch chairs.
No comments:
Post a Comment