Refill the Tank

True confession:  I’m a gas light gambler. The light stares incessantly, but surely there's one more trip in the tank. Bypassing opportunity to be refilled, I press forward. The needle wavers, slips into the thick bottom line nearing the big E, but still I pursue one more thing, one more day, one more task.

Needing rescue, hubby or friends arrive, red tank in hand with life giving nectar, just enough to lead me back for a complete refill. Filled once more, fresh vows never to do it again, and yet...

there’s the light once again, sending it's alarm, encouraging me to stop and be filled.

I’m in control, I dictate my day.  

Ignoring the alarm, I press forward, working harder, going faster until the final drips are spent and I’m at the gritty bottom.  On the thick tank bottom sits the sediment, the waste, the useless and harmful by-products. The dregs were never meant for intricate parts, they drift in and render everything ineffective requiring a bigger rescue than a roadside fill-up.

The better alternative is to pay attention to the alarm, obey its suggestion and  refill the tank.