Somewhere in the vast, echoing halls of my personal library, there is recorded a journal of the Waterloo campaign.
After having been unceremoniously dumped into the harbor by a captain whose instructions had been to unload the horses and men with all deliberate haste, and having made his way to shore, and through the town and the rain to the dubious shelter of an empty barn, where his men were attempting to dry out and get some rest, the commander observed that “All of our comforts are a study in contrasts.” At least he was dry, or nearly so.
Always remember that the lament, “It can’t get any worse than this” inevitably ends with the complainer being proven wrong.
I always think, “OK. What else is going to happen, now. I know this isn’t the end of it.”
I’ll get through this just like I do everything else that comes my way. Because I have to! :o])
Whenever someone asks a question like, “Can this day get any worse?” I always respond, “Don’t ask a question you don’t want answered.”