Don't count your chickens...

My sister in law has chickens now.

We actually gave all my birthday guests a dozen fresh eggs as their party favor.

Each chicken has a name, and she dotes on them like pets.  Watching her with her chicks, I knew the great affection she held for them.  Another friend in Michigan also had a small flock, and I knew she enjoyed them just as much.  I thought it a tad odd she failed to turn up for my party, and worried something was wrong.

A stray dog had attacked and killed all of her chickens.  Needless to say, she was numb from the loss.

This is me, all geeked because my cast was coming off.

And this is me when I found out the hand was still broken (or should I say rebroken,  for the third time.)

Not happy.

Oh, it gets worse.

It's a dark place to be.

Four months.  Four months of making the best of it.  Four months of making it work.  Four months of just waiting to be normal again, so I can get on with life.

Not gonna happen.

My entire life, I've looked for the good.  Blessed others.  Made the best of things, and never said never.

I'm just numb.

I know these are simply days to get through.  I know the best is yet to be.

But I'm so tired.

Tired of being kind, then trampled on.  Tired of looking for the best, when everyone looks at me for the worse. Tired of having given, only to be told it's not enough, or, worse yet, that I must be trying to get something out of it.

Oh, it's not the worse thing that could happen.  I'm not stupid, and many other things are much more challenging.  Look, my husband died when I was 24; technically a four month long broken hand is a blip in comparison.

It's just that I'm so tired of hurting.

Of people not caring.

Of being let down by one, then another, and another.

Oh, I'll continually give freely-I won't change that.  I can't change that-it's who I am.  I'm not prone to bitterness.

I am prone to think obsessively on how others think ill of me, however.  My time machine revealed that as a huge stumbling block.

So now I'm in front of my stumbling block, with a thrice broken hand.  If I jump over it, I could snap my hand (it is how I broke it the second time.). If I try to walk around it, I might trip (which was the third break.)

So I'm going to turn around and walk away from it.

I acknowledge the rejection.

Again.

But this time?  

Bluebirds.

I need to learn how to fly.