The very fact that we can get by. The fact that we’re not starving. That we don’t live on the streets. That we don’t sofa surf, as we used to do. That we don’t just scrape by. That we aren’t just bouncing along the bottom. The fact that we’re no longer impoverished. That our debts aren’t entirely destroying us.
The fact that we aren’t actually – technically – alcoholics. Not yet, anyway. The fact that we’re not addicted to anything. That we’re not entirely stupefied yet. The fact that our hands are not shaking. The fact that we can still lift a glass to our lips. The fact that we can still focus, just about, on tasks at hand.
The fact that we still have something of promise about us. That thing could turn round for us. That we could mend our ways and become good. That a magnum opus could still be hiding in us somewhere. That we can still dream of waking from our dogmatic slumbers, or whatever.
The fact that we want to change, somehow. The fact that things are still possible for us, after all. Despite everything. Despite ourselves!
The fact that our fates haven’t entirely played themselves out. That we’re still alive! Where there’s hope, there’s breath! Where there’s breath, there’s … what?
Work in Progress 