Choices. . .

Drove out to Curves while it was still dark...came home -- finished a few tasks...back to town for car inspection...home again...tended to water-soaked basement...have been mucking out drainage ditches in pouring rain outside the house and through the woods (while visions of bear attacks danced through my head)...now to get ready to go to Binghamton for a doctor appointment (hand surgery follow-up) where I'll say, "it's fine" and Dr. will say, "yep, it's fine" and then I will get back in my car and drive the 50 miles back home.  As for the bear attack vision, I'm only half-kidding.  The truth is, I found myself thinking that if such a thing were to happen, I would be unconscious and, therefore, no longer concerned with "water wrangling."  That the idea held some appeal (however slight, and so pitifully pathetic) was rather jolting.  The jolt made me realize: "Now, this is more than just a nudge.  This is a boot in the rear; a cuff up along side the head." -- Thanks, God!

So what do I do in these wallowing fits of depression?  First, I remind myself that there is always more than one direction with which to proceed and that the choice is mine.  My two most common choices are 1.) I can have what I call a "poor spell" (fling things, cry and curse) or 2.) I can, as I like to say "turn it around" and begin to think of all that I am so very thankful for; to remember that whatever I may be dealing with and however looming it may seem, there is always someone, somewhere who would consider it "small stuff."  I recognize these varying dimensions of woe because I know how it feels to believe the worst thing that could possibly happen, already has.  It is a lesson in perspective.  And yes, I am grateful for even that!

Besides, I already had my "poor spell" once this week.