"We are plucked from this earth almost as soon as we are put here."
Fortune takes its time to arrive, and wastes none in taking it's leave.
March, April and May and their visitors have come and gone, and the weeks between their visits have flown by with routine and gentle progress. As each task gradually reaches completion and is removed from the list, other things crop up, and slowly a portrait of completion begins to appear, and with it, the framework for the next and greater task. In this next week, prior to our trip to New Hampshire, I will be visiting the Financial Aid office, and following that, registering for courses, and with that, finally be in the fight again, instead of training for a comeback. I don't want to get myself too excited, having grown wary of disappointment in the veins of major life events, but the prospect makes my blood surge, a rush of adrenaline that resurrects a feeling of indomitability that I have missed.
Preparations for NH are going well, and soon I will begin a schedule of baking and packaging a myriad of breads to bring with us a gift to our hosts. Already blankets and sheets are in the wash, for their last cleaning before the trip, a self provided preparation of hospitality. The maintenance and cleaning of the vessel are overly planned for, and under actualized (an all-together too common state for things in my life.)
A great friend of mine is meeting us up in New Hampshire, along with a whole slew of others there for the festivities. But I plan on dragging this friend back with me, by force if necessary.
