The more I get to know myself, the more I hate me.
The expression “this went completely pear shaped” is indicative of something that was an unmitigated disaster. Well, I am pear shaped, both physically and metaphorically, and I am restless for change.
Change comes in uninspiring increments so small one can scarcely see them. It also comes with pain. Faith is the only antidote to keep one trying to slog it forward in the face of the unrelenting headwind.
They are trimming the trees on the boulevard of my street and anxiously I peer out my window, hoping they will not destroy the thin strip of beauty that makes living in a city this size almost bearable.
There’s nothing I can do about it. The trimming must happen, to protect cars and homes.
How does one prune a pear tree? And when will spring come?
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