The 10-meter impossible stretch
The 10-meter impossible stretch.
The insurmountable water in the sea. The burning house on the beach, and the 10-meter stretch between them. That is the story of my life. Imagine a small person, like 5 ft 3 inches tall. Watching a house on the beach burn down. All of it.
The beautiful white motif filled fence. The cobbled stone path lined with 60 shades of green grass blades. The wicker furniture on that grass, the tasteful cotton cushions on them. The large wooden door, and all the memories made inside them.
They are all aflame. I cannot get my head around how to get all that water to put it out! I mean it is the sea. There is so much water right there. 10 meters away, and I don’t know how. All I do, is watch it all turn to ashes. Angry flames taunting the sea, knowing it’s useless even though it’s enough. Because of the impossible distance of the 10 meters of sand. That’s how I feel. I know, it’s right there, but I don’t know how.
I’ve always prided in the knowledge that while at my core I’m all emotion, my rational self prevails most times. More accurately, my rational self is the decision maker for almost 98% of my day, every day. The 2% is lost at about lunchtime with a snickers bar from the shop next door. To be fair, the rational self is taking a cat nap after lunch!
Work deliverables, 100% rational, sometimes detrimentally so if you’re managing people. Money, my famously female impulse-buy organ, completely missing. So, my work week, always the same, always rational.
Then comes the weekend. I whip out my to do list, my social engagements and everything flips over. I grudgingly drag my feet and get the to-do list half done. Procrastination reigns supreme, and rational self is nowhere to be found. The procrastination is justified by the lamest excuses in my head. I dig deep, trying to pull the resisting rational self by her hair from under the layers of emotion, only to have the top of her head show for about a minute or so ( which is when the to-do list is promptly captured on my phone), only to disappear to unreachable depths till Sunday morning. Getting a business plan ready for millions of dollars during the week, no problem, making a grocery list and ordering it online, mammoth task.
I bought a beautiful painting of a Balinese dancer in June this year. She’s powerful, beautiful and would look perfect above my leather chairs. I managed to get to the framers by end August, finally picked it up in October, and she’s laying in the boot of my car ever since.
How can someone be so drastically different, consistently on 2 days every week, for a decade or more? I watch friends obsess over just the right shade of grey that their reading corner’s being updated to, for the 3rd time this year, and I wonder why it takes me 16 hours to scan the grocery cupboards to end up with a list of 3 ingredients to order.
Why is it easier for me to run my job, but not my life outside of it?
That’s what it feels like, the 10 meter stretch. Impossible!
The 10-meter impossible stretch
Insurmountable water in the sea.
A burning house on the beach
A 10 meter stretch between profligacy and need.
I impotently watch it burn.
The white motif filled fence
The cobbled stone path lined with emerald turf.
The wicker lounger with a beautifully blue cushion.
The large red wooden door, and everything it holds within.
All aflame.
It’s savior 10 meters away, portentous now,
Angry flames taunting it, menacingly turning everything to ashes.
Taking my desperate resolve with it.
I am helpless.
The ocean submits to its abeyance, it’s excess no longer enough.
The last of the flames have licked clean what once was.
I stand, once again, disquieted by the impossible.
The 10-meter stretch.