Plan Q

A friend of mine posted a meme on Facebook that said, “If ‘Plan A’ doesn’t work, the alphabet has 25 more letters! Stay cool.”

My response to that was, “I think I’m on Plan Q.”

And it’s true. My life has been a never-ending series of do overs; a veritable cornucopia of screw ups and bad choices as a centerpiece in a virtual Thanksgiving feast of innocent and/or stupid mistakes.

The fact that I’ve hit the reset button so many times is probably why so many of my loved ones think I’m strong. To that I say, “piffle waffle.” “Try, try again” isn’t a sign of nobility or power. It’s a sign that you have been left with no other alternative.

Giving up is not really an option. Sure, you can curl up in a fetal position with the sheets pulled up over your head for a while, but eventually you’re going to get hungry. You’re going to have to do something. Withering up and dying is a long, nasty, painful process, and one that takes an astonishing level of stubbornness.

So, yeah, I’m on Plan Q, if I haven’t lost count. And I’ve no doubt there will be a Plan R in the near future. That’s life.

Plan A

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