This has not been the world’s best week. Actually, it’s been very up and down. I feel a little like an emotional rag doll. These are some of the emotional colors of me week:
I got to meet Christianne and Kirk face-to-face which was very special. They’re both so cool. Maybe I’ll write more about that later, but it was good. I wished it could have been more, because I was tired and just beginning to process having lost the turtle that night (and I didn’t know yet how much it hurt), so I felt like my heart was all over the place. There’s nothing to apologize for there, but it doesn’t mean I don’t wish I’d been well-rested and centered.
I’m stuck on the novel and I’m not sure why. I’ve written all the parts where I know what happened and the rest aren’t coming. Maybe I need to take a break, but maybe I need to jump in and put words on the paper until the right ones come. That’s something that has made writing hard–I want to be gentle with myself, to give myself what I need, but I’m not always sure what that is. I don’t know my writing rhythms yet, because I haven’t done this before. So I’m trial-and-erroring my way through.
I think I’m scared to finish it. Because then I have to revise, which is a process that I fight with and I’m not sure why. And then I have to decide if this is something I want to try to sell or if it’s not ready, if I’m not ready. I’ve learned that the writing I can do…but I don’t know about the rest. So there are some psychological barriers there. But I’m also tired. For the amount of writing time I have, I’ve been going through this more hell-bent-for-leather than anything else. So maybe I just need a rest.
I think that I am where I am in life because God wants me to learn to just be me, not defined by anything that I do, but just me, whole, wherever I am. I long for that life. But I don’t see myself getting there for quite a while. Does that mean I have to stay here until I do? Blah. All the same, it might be worth it to wake up one morning with wings.
The turtle got lost.
The turtle got found.
Work is hard. I have my biggest event yet coming up next weekend and I don’t want to do it. I’m praying through it and trying to just be with myself but I still don’t want it. I’m afraid it will suck, that something will fall apart, but I also know that being a hostess is not me. I mean, I love talking to people, but I hate being the one who has to put together food for people and make small talk. I wish I could just get to know each person one-on-one–much more my thing.
On the other hand, work is under control. I feel like I have a handle on things, like I’m making changes that make sense in how we do things, like I’m slowly cleaning the place up and getting it into an order I can deal with. And that’s a good feeling.
I’m tired. The allergies are still keeping me awake at night, and now the heat is, too.
Dave and I have had one of those weeks where we go from really enjoying each other to really annoying each other really fast (and no, I could not have used ‘really’ any more times in that sentence!). We’re not always like that, and it’s hard when we are. I think it has something to do with the general tiredness level in our house.
I read The Kite Runner and I don’t know what I think. Sad, transformative, redemptive, all in the same pages. And with an ending that was true to life in its unsureness, it’s hope in the darkness, it’s already-and-not-yet.
The heart is a many-splendor’d thing.