I'm up to the elbows in compost repotting a geranium when I have one of my moments. It's a tired looking affair and I consider consigning it to the compost bin. The pot is far too big for it I concluded.
And suddenly I think that's exactly what's up with the flagging spirit. My life is too big for the body and I'm floundering in others expectations, work, and the mechanics of it all.
It simply can't be filled as it used to given nonstop pain, limited energy levels and I can't even see the list of to do jobbies through the fog.
Oh that it were as simple as down sizing to a smaller pot. What does that self help manual recommend. Something about pacing and acceptance. But not a jot about repotting.