It was the best of times. Am getting a foothold career-wise. The wheat is separate itself from the chaff, relationship-wise. And last Friday I was gently rocked to sleep, the sweetest slumber I’ve had in a long time. The ocean was my mother. The boat was my cradle. And the baby was me.
It was the worst of times. My uncle (who’s actually my foster dad) has a lump in his lungs. My friend hates me. My dad has an E Coli infection and must be on a liquid diet for God knows how long. My folks ae not visitng me in November.
Funny how a quote from a wonderful novel of yore can be so timeless and so relevant to this season of my life.
So hope you managed to find the wheat, don’t grind it to flour !