“Run mad as often as you choose, but do not faint.” ~ Jane Austen

What madness life has been! I am out of breath; I am running mad.

I cannot write. Thoughts and ideas are meshed and elusive. I am the more glum by this, and find myself strumming over the piano. My fingers move up and down, linger, pluck at the keys, and a sense of calm rinses me, though never is as obliging as writing.

When one surprise ends, another surely follows. I am not shocked by life's uncertainty, mind you, but gobsmacked at how often the uncertainty finds me. For the few things I am ever certain about, I am immensely grateful: family, friends, belief...otherwise I should be running about in circles all the day long without resolution.

Instead I am running circles with a pit stop every so often, which in the scheme of things is very helpful.

At night I lay my head on my pillow and want to laugh aloud. How silly and evasive some of my worries have become about you, about him and her, about five years from now, because in the end you have little idea, they don't care, and the future cannot be planned on worrying about the present.