Mother Goosed Me

I imagine most of you have heard this nursery rhyme by Mother Goose:

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is fair and wise and good and gay.

I was born on a Thursday. I want to know what it means to “have far to go.”

Do I get depressed thinking about the long slog my life will be? Will every step I take be an illusion of forward motion? When I take one step forward I will be pushed two steps back. I can picture myself clawing my way up an icy slope, digging my nails in to keep from falling, only to have my nails break off painfully and I slip and slide my way down to the bottom, back to the beginning. If a depressed mood hung over my head today, I might be tempted along those lines.

But I always hated Mother Goose anyway. If I liked duck, I’d cook her for dinner (yes, I know a duck and a goose are birds of a different feather, ok.) I could say, “I’d like to cook her goose for trying to comdemn me to a life of perpetual peddling to catch up.” Fuck that Bool Shite!

To me it means I have unlimited potential for all things good. Like (said in Valley Girl accent) I can go from one wonderful vacation destination to the next without end. I dare to dream without reservation. I yearn to strive for goals beyond my limited needs. I use the bottomless gifts I have within myself.

**ack, ack, ack** Sorry, I was choking on goose down.