There but for the grace of God.
There went I until recently. I was treading mud in a minefield (a mindfield) and I was trying not to explode. My sleeping was virtually non-existent and my patience was in short supply. To put the tin lid on it, I was in the midst of a battle that was raging all around me, a conflict in which I was the objective, an unjust war that was being waged because the world had little else of interest to do with itself. I guard against returning to that battlefield.
Unfortunately skirmishes have begun again, but this time it is my wife trying to fight off the aggressors.
We have been out at sea for a long, long time and the elements have been throwing everything that they can at us. I became so nauseous from the journey that I started to throw-up anything that I may have ingested for the past five decades. I was so sick, that I developed a little immunity from it.
Blow winds, bloody blow!
So, now I am here with a rapidly increasing shit-tolerance. That’s life, I say to myself, with my oilskin wrapped tightly around me. But my wife does not deserve this. She has done nothing but good. She has kept our family together when there were forces set upon its destruction. And now, when she doesn’t sleep, I lay awake and listen to her restless fumblings.
I know that battle. I know that storm.
Perhaps two of us at the tiller. Two sets of hands on the ropes and two stronger backs at task will keep us afloat.