It’s a sad fact of life but sometimes, often, I am not enough.
I will never be enough for some people.
I will never have enough time for them, even though I freely give all the time that I possibly can.
I will never earn enough to match other’s expectations, despite earning enough to be a co-homeowner of much longed for nest, to run 2 cars, to start to save, to have cleared my debts, to have started a pension and to keep me in yarn.
I will never live up to expectations, though the sights that are set do not suit me.
I will never have enough experience, although I am 30years behind.
For some, I will not give enough presents, because to some quantity is not as important as quality.
I can never get enough of being with my boy.
I will never have enough time for my hobbies, nor sleep.
I will never have satisfied my need to learn, to better myself, to make the most of my brain, to know enough.
I will never stop needing to fill my days with enough accomplishments to sleep easy, knowing I’ve made the most of another miraculous day of life.
I will never have enough yarn… Or fabric…