Collision. . .

Just when I think I have things figured out for a moment and my little house of sticks begins to take form, something comes along with a swift kick at the corner and it all comes tumbling down again.

I dust myself off, start picking up the pieces again and once more begin the rebuilding. Either I need to find bigger sticks or people with softer feet because seeing the beginning over and over and over is wearing me down.

I guess that's what I get for dancing with the devil all these years.

- Sent from my iPhone