Last week I was lamenting a poor week where all I could do was show up, push on and get those things done, which needed doing. I ended it all by posting the last few lines of Rudyard Kipling’s monumental poem, “If.”

Well this week was a whole lot better. I got a great deal accomplished, both at work and on my side projects. Then Saturday arrived and I found myself victim of one of my (thankfully now very infrequent) migraines.

The good news? It wasn’t a particularly bad one.

The bad news? Doesn’t matter if a migraine isn’t particularly bad, it’s still a migraine. Unfortunately, as the day has worn on, it has intensified. I’d like to be out playing with my boys, but the heat and humidity, combined with physical exertion, and a migraine simply don’t mix.

It’s been a very quiet day, hunkered down riding out this fool achy breaky head.

A Billy Ray Cyrus reference? Seriously Andrew, wtf?

Yeah, a Billy Ray Virus reference. In my defense, I’ve never actually heard the entire song. I always managed to get scarce whenever I heard the opening bars. On the bright side, I could almost sing you Weird Al Yankovick’s parody version, “Achy Breaky Song” by heart.

Where was I?

Oh, yeah, taking a slow day to ride out a migraine.

Anyway, no real life’s lesson here. Just a story about muddling through the pain. Instead of a lesson, I’ll leave you with the rest of the poem:

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling

You ever have one of those weeks when all you really want to do is curl up in bed, and not get out until it’s all over?

Yeah, that was me this week.

I’ve been feeling a little off. Nothing concrete, I didn’t have a fever, I wasn’t sick to my stomach, and no problems with the bathroom bits. Nonetheless, I had headaches, my appetite was down, I was having minor bouts of nausea in the morning and no matter how much I slept, I woke up tired.

That was all well and good, but even if I could blow off work, hell even if I wanted to blow off work, I still have children to feed and organize. I may have felt like crap, but no way could I leave them unattended for 8 hours while their mother was away at work.

Child abductive services notwithstanding, little boys need to eat, they need to run, they need structure and boundaries, and they simply can’t be left to their own devices for a full day, lest you want the house destroyed.

No, lying abed was simply not going to happen, so I got up and carried on carrying on.

Ate my oatmeal, fed and watered the boys, got my morning coffee and did my job. Deadlines got met, side projects got pushed along, I even managed to get in a couple of good, hard runs.

Last week I was noodling time, and its passage. I concluded by imploring you not to waste those precious ticks of the clock, because once gone, they’re gone, and they’re never coming back.

What I’m trying to point out, in this aimless little story, is that I try to take my own advice, and I try to take it very seriously. It was a turd ball of a week, but in spite of having to fight my way through most of it, I didn’t throw it away. Through self-discipline and will, through this misery of a week, I:

• Maintained my health
• Maintained my fitness
• Took care of my children
• Did my job (and did it very well)
• Advanced my (perhaps too many) side projects

That’s the lesson Rudyard Kipling was trying to impart:

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,

Yours is the earth and all that’s in it

And – which is more – you’ll be a Man, my son!