It's funny: you think a turning point in your life only arises when you have no choice whatsoever, but to confront the grim reality reflected in the tarot cards before you. But that's not true at all: a turning point in your life only begins its suffering spiral trajectory when you take the initiative to do something about it - be it to accept or reject your Fate, it is still an active decision that you have made regarding the subject matter at hand. The consequent end-result is a moot point at present, and one which we can never be sure of anyway. On the other hand, is there anything more certain than the fallacy of constancy, and the inevitability of change for the queer notion of progress's own sake?
For very different reasons this time round, I find myself once again lying spread-eagled on the floor. My broken feet are laden with sorrow of my own making, and I can no longer open my eyes in trust - that tomorrow will bring a brand new day, that tomorrow will chase all the shadows away.
I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.