The end

Gérard Mclean
Nov 1 · 1 min read

It’s October and my garden beds are overrun by dead and dying annuals. I breathe a sigh of relief that the tedium of weeding and fighting ivy growing out of control into every crack of everything is soon over.

When I plant things in the spring, I immediately long for the fall when everything will be over.

I need a deadline. My anxiety about personal failure needs a finish line, a time when I can cease worrying about when things will fall apart so badly that I can’t control the outcome. Give me a deadline; give me the markers for success.

Give me a finish line.

Gérard Mclean

Written by

Picking my brain will cost you a fortune. No discounts. Author; Monkey with a Loaded Typewriter @rivershark

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