The question was put to me the other day (twice by different people): Who is taking care of you?
Me. I am. I think so. I try. I'm not sure I'd recognize being taken care of (by another person) if it appeared. I'm not sure I could accept it.
I'm a caregiver by nature, and clearly (at the moment) the poster child for the axiom: A quality is not always an asset.
I need refuge, shelter, a place to lay my weary head - a calm voice to say, "it's all going to be ok." Because just now? I don't feel like it is, and I am overly tired of clinging to the frayed strings this Universe keeps offering me.
Shit. I'm ok. I think I'll mow the yard. C'mon Gypsy... my little deus ex machina... *heavy sigh*... *deep breath*... I'm ok.