I wonder if someone will come and rescue me?
I really do wonder this sometimes.
When I’m feeling down.
Then, I play it through…
If my rescuer did abseil down the side of my house, the soles or his or her boots crashing through my patio doors to rescue me, I’d have to ask him or her to pause for a second.
You see, I don’t want to be rescued from everything.
I’d be selective.
So I’d have to make my rescuer a list.
On a little bit of paper.
Yes; rescue me from boredom.
(But not all uncertainty.
Because I like some uncertainty).
And don’t rescue me from Lisa and Izobel of course.
I need them.
Life can be bloody hard.
But I don’t need to be rescued from it.
Naturally, I will occasionally crave ‘the other’.
There will always be an (apparently) better ‘other’ – no matter where am.
So the best tactic is to stay where I am and rescue myself, I think.
One by one, removing the things I don’t like.
And showing more love for the things that I do.
I don’t want to be rescued.
I just need to find the strength to stop comparing, and take a bit more responsibility sometimes.