2b y'or knot

It’s F’day weekend.

He might describe it as "being released", I've described it as one big "F,U right backatcha". We haven't spoken since. Nor will we until he can #1 explain his thought process or #2 apologize.

IF I were to take a stress test, and the Dr. wanted me to run on the treadmill, I would have this to say… "Um, I don't think it's actually all that necessary, ya see doc, if a Tiger is going to choose me to have for dinner, then I'd rather die running than actually feel the cat bite down, so I'll run until my heart explodes, then the Tiger will get his well chosen supper (it is said that the carnivores who hunt bring down only the weak and sick, thus increasing the strength of the species they hunt) and my boys the life insurance $$'s. What does knowing I have a condition help me accomplish actually?"

When I was small, I knew I was well-loved. I was so very fortunate, and I believed there was enough love to go around.

Because I was so well loved, by surrounding, supporting family members, [not by my actual parents, they were entirely too young to know how to "love" in the way that parents must], but because I was so well loved, I thought I had enough love to go around. Now I’m not so sure about that. I know I have enough to love my sons. I love my siblings, albeit from a distance. I know I love my "few good friends" for which I am grateful and whose numbers are increasing (oddly enough).

Too, I know I love my beau. But this love I have for those mentioned does not heal the worlds ills, it does not solve the issues that have arisen amongst my immediate birth family. I say birth family because you can form a "chosen" family which is what I am in the process of establishing at present.

Still I needed, today, to seek out Hamlet's famous dialogue as found below, and for the 1st time I believe I might actually be able to do it some justice and so I may choose to memorize it for my next audition piece.

"To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them?

To die: to sleep no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd.

To die, to sleep; to sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause:
there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, the oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely (CONTEMPT), the pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns that patient merit of the unworthy takes,
when he himself might his quietus make with a bare bodkin?

Who would fardels (BUNDLE) bear, to grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death, the undiscover'd country from whose bourn no traveler returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; and thus the native hue of resolution
is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.

Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember'd."

I am about to pick my Ophelia up from the airport... when he is about, my spirits tend to soar and my worries hide. But, soft, life lies waiting.