Good Grief 125

Bit of a Goldilocks day ... nothing felt quite right.
How does lichen know what to do?
The sheer exasperation, the flesh ripping frustration and torment of knowing how to be in the world is not something that seems to weigh heavily on your average lichen.
It is a curious thing to be unwell and realise that no-one will know for some time if you die in your bed. And it is much the same each day when it makes no odds what you do and so it has to be made up, all the time. So, yet again, I got up ... and made it up ... managed to motivate a mission for the day which gradually lost heart. I stopped to walk a bit here, but didn't; I stopped to walk a bit there, but couldn't quite be bothered to get my boots on; I found a good reason to stop just at that spot but thought I'll not make it all the way round, I'll lose the will and fall to my knees about mid-way and that will be really stupid. I had driven quite some way, for what, another lesson in futility So, in the end I did a short forced march up a steep incline for half an hour or so, and then walked down it again. It reminded me of the Grand Old Duke of York. It is what I often do. I just have to get my head down and put one foot in front of the other, it is quite hard, but the effort somehow forces my body and bludgeon's it back into the world. A gentle meander just won't do it. It is more of a 'keep going, damn you'.