Stress is the ultimate accelerator of disease and death. It eats at us while we’re awake and as we sleep, if we allow it.
For every second that the clock ticks ‘round, stress, like an angry beaver, gnaws away at the butt-end of life’s timeline.
“Shoo!” I try. “Dam You Beaver!”
No longer will you chew at my existence. No longer will I allow stress to paralyze my body.
What will be, will be. C’est la vie. And so it goes.
I strive to roll with the punches. I will go with the flow.
Swimming upriver is too tiring, And the gains are far too few.
Better to catch the waves of Fate, Or Destiny, Or Chance,
Or whatever the hell you want to call it,
And enjoy the Ride.