Feeling the madness on Friday
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“It’s not the large things that send a mant to the madhouse. Death, he’s ready for, or murder, incest, robbery, fire flood. No, it’s the continuing series of small tragedies that send a man to the madhouse.
Not the death of his love but a shoelace that snaps.”
Friday evening and we race home. Another weeks worth of work is done and the stack of papers left on the desk stay with your mind through the weekend. The pending problems burrow into your dreams as you seek the sweet refuge of sleep.
Everything speeds up. Faster and faster the days spiral out of control until enough of those tragedies build into a devastating crescendo.
When will that shoelace break for all of us?
