Random Melancholia

Not blogging has been killing me.

Real life has been kicking me pretty hard, too.  No, that’s not right.  The good life is pretty strenuous.

I’m exhausted.

Right now.

I have no pressure valve.  No outlet.  I’ve really explored friendship and found that perhaps I’m entirely selfish and not even somewhat likeable.  Or perhaps, maybe, I am too accessible.  Too available.  I hesitate to say needy.  But.  If the shoe fits.

I legitimately have fibro.  It makes me weak.  It scatters my mind like a 14 year-old boy’s school papers on the last day of school.  It fracks around with my sleep.  I’m one of the lucky ones, though.  But for how long?  I’m toying with the idea of following one gal I’ve run across who attacked back and became a body builder.  Not that that’s my cup of tea, but getting my ass rear back up where it belongs and trading my bat wings for some high caliber guns would be great.  One last swipe at that before I quit struggling and just be an old bag already.

So… a few random thoughts.

13 weeks ago, our church started an excruciating exercise in establishing boy-girl relationship teaching for the families of middle and high school aged kids.  When it started, I had all the answers.  Today, there is an actual person in that space that used to be a white silhouette with a question mark on it.  And I have no answers.  Okay, I have some answers.

1) My daughter is more trustworthy than I let on.

2) There is not a one size fits all set of rules.

3) I don’t want to live the next 3 years of my life.  I want to wake up and have it be finished.  In a neat package with a bow.  Just so.  Made to order.  No drama.

So today at lunch, these two sit across the table and tell me a story of middle school luuuurrve.  Why had I not heard this story?  Sheesh, if he loved her then, when there was nowhere to go but up????

I will do anything.  I mean anything. To make this stop.  It will open the door for the fibro to kill me dead.

I quit coffee last week.  I drank enough iced tea to float a boat on Wednesday afternoon, and on Thursday morning, I didn’t drink any coffee.  It has been crazy.  Completely crazy.  I am not finished yet.

I am secretly very very desperate to run away to the beach.  I would have to sit there, because the condo we stayed in has already been sold by the owner we rented from.

Now we’ve hung the hammock on the porch.  It is almost like being on the beach.  Except, instead of waves crashing, I hear the interstate.

Since we’ve been home from the beach, I cannot come home to this house.  I had accepted it before, but I am getting worse and worse.  It’s a deplorable attitude, like most I possess.  I can’t defend it.  There are millions of Americans who’d be grateful for a sturdy house.  I suck.

The boy’s birthday party is tomorrow.  We’re doing Putt-Putt.  It’s a classic.  He asked me not to play.  Because he wants to play with Dad and his friends.  I get it, Dude.  Men are from Mars and live in caves.  That’s fine.

I’m on doula call.  If she calls me at the wrong time, I could miss the party altogether.  So either way, I’m golden.

It’s about 10, here.  Suddenly, the street is quiet.  All the rowdy, loud, disturbed, have gone in for the night.  Homes are dark.  Huh.  I always like to be in bed, but my husband and children think there needs to be something on Friday.  All the educated, elegant and privileged are darkened and quiet, as well.  All this time.  The girls are at a movie with friends. They won’t be home until…


I haven’t done anything for Father’s Day.  When we finish the party and possibly the birth, tomorrow, I’ll have to squeeze in a shopping trip.  I am stumped.  I also spent last year’s Father’s Day in so much pain that I panic thinking about it.

I miss my K.C. friends.  I need them.

There is something that seems not to be okay, here.  Full, happy obedience to God.  Not to your neighbor’s convictions.  God.  He’s pretty specific, but when I get serious, I can’t tell anyone, or they try to talk me out of it.  That wasn’t a problem in K.C.

I’m tired.  I’m lonely.  I can see that I have permission to enjoy life, but I can’t pick up the beat.

When I give up is always when God comes through big.  He knows what I like.


I love it when you sass me. Please leave a comment.

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