This morning I went into town early and picked up another lettings list. I am seeing the studio apartment from Saturday later on this afternoon, but I don't want to take anything for granted. I just have to keep pushing at doors until one of them opens. Which as a metaphor is almost literally true.
Courage doesn't come naturally to me. Yesterday I was feeling pretty stressed trying to balance all this moving house business with working a full-time job. This week I am Acting Manager at work too, which increases the pressure. But when I left off shift last night I phoned Ruth, and after talking to her for an hour I felt a renewed strength. She is always the right person to lean on in a crisis.
In every other thing I do I try to remember, when I'm buckling, my childhood hero Muhammad Ali and all the tests of courage he has endured and spectacularly passed in his life. It helps me find my own focus. Gird my loins, so to speak. I am now going to do that with the house move. If he could refuse to be drafted and sacrifice his Heavyweight title (while earning another more significant Heavyweight title) because no Viet Cong ever called me nigger, then I can certainly put up with the minor stresses of moving house.