The rattling of marbles

I’m organising a group weekend retreat for thirty or so people. Ringing up the venue to check through all the details, I happen to mention the date and realise with horror that I’ve booked the wrong weekend.

That sort of thing doesn’t happen to me – one of the things I’m really good at is organisation and paying attention to detail. Yet here I am making a big and fundamental mistake. The practicalities are sorted – I find another venue and book it. But it shakes me to the core. Enough of my life has been stripped away in the last months,  if I now can’t rely on my organisational skills and ability to react quickly in a crisis, then what’s left?

Friends say these things happen, but that’s the point, they don’t happen to me. Find myself on shifting sands again, unable to do much other than read and wander about in an aimless way. I tidy up and wash the bathroom floor which has needed it for a while.

I can almost feel my marbles rattling around and I’ve already lost so much, couldn’t face losing them as well.

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