and maybe it's because i'm in this calmer, relaxed - er mood that i want to write about my feelings on something that someday - maybe soon maybe not - i could feel really strongly about.
throwing in the towel.
i heard a question tonight and it started a train of thoughts. "what would your towel look like if you were ready to 'throw in the towel'?"
excellent. question. my mind immediately goes to my bathroom towels. they are a soft lavender. over sized. called bath sheets. and i love them. they are not too soft, because you see, towels that are too soft don't actually get the water off - and that is after all what towels are for, are they not?
one of my towels in particular has been showing it's age. somehow the binding got ripped and so it is fraying. i have a nightly battle with strings who are just not invited to help me dry off. i've gotten frustrated and pulled and yanked and ripped, more than i probably should. but it's my towel. and scissors were a whole 10 feet away.
if i ever got to the point where i was truly ready to be done, where i was giving up and giving in, where all of my options had been sifted and sorted through, and nothing would fix where i was, then this is what my towel would look like ....
soft lavender. i'm a soft gentle person at heart.
holes. ripes. shreds. hanging from the sides. searing the middle. a gaping hole. all to reflect the hardness and harshness of life.
blood. stains. on the corners.
moisture. to show the shower of tears cried as i battled.
large and over sized. it would be a bath sheet. because i would use my grandest resources first -- i wouldn't throw in a dinky little towel. i would throw in a bath sheet to prove i tried. to show i fought.
and each fiber of that towel would hold feelings of love and hate - anger and peace - rage and calm - revenge and acceptance - all of the ups and downs of my time here.
throwing in the towel. it's an interesting thought.
what would your towel be?
what would it say?