Stuck

     My wheels are spinning.  It would be nice if they were spinning, sending up big plumes of black smoke, like a hot rod muscle car at the front line of a drag race.  Just aching for the tree lights to go green.

     Mine are spinning like a riding lawn mower that doesn't have bar tires, on a slope of green wet grass, making mud, as they continue to spin in the same spot.

     I don't know why I'm so stuck.  Fear, perhaps.  Being told "no".

     That's why I could never be a good salesperson.  One "no" and I was done.  Kapoot.  I'd rather take my chances with a bull and a red cape than to be told no.

     I have no idea why that is because if someone tells me I can't do something, I'm hell bent for leather to prove them wrong.  So, what's my problem?

     I wish I was the person other people think I am.  My best friend in the whole wide world described me, many years ago, to a tee. She may look like steel on the outside, but on the inside, she's pretty tender.  She was right, nothing but Jell-o on the inside.

     Sigh, I think I'm a little too old to be anything or anyone different.  My dreams seem to be wafting out of the end of a pipe.

     The longest journey starts with one step, then another, then another.  Maybe I'll just go for a walk.