Fingerless

Well it’s St. Patrick’s Day again. As I will continue to affirm, it is a grueling, traumatic holiday for red heads. We are at the mercy of drunken heckles from all kinds. I choose not to wade through chummed waters this year. In fact, I can’t recall what I did last year. To be fair, last year was not my best, sick from the start to the finished, often crippled by pain and fatigue. And now, as the pain lifts and the fatigue seeks camp in lazier pastures, I still have a fog nipping at my heels and trying (and succeeding) to pull me under once again.

What is that saying? When one door closes, a window opens? I never realized that it was entirely possible to get your fingers caught in the door making it impossible to go through the window. So here I am caught painfully by the past and unable to escape to a new future (at least not one without fingers.)