It remains the hardest part of my day when I recognize that I’ve been granted a Sisyphean task. I am capable, I will, push that rock up that hill.
And I will crest it.
Yet quickly, like the flashing of a light, another boulder, great and misshapen and unwieldy, will appear at the bottom. Or, even worse, that same crested rock will roll down, o’er my toes and just past the reach of my fingertips to slow it, and the task will begin anew.
Sometimes I don’t understand why I do this.
This work and working thing. It truly never ends, does it?