Today I wake up feeling slightly better which I find surprising since I didn't sleep well. I start sorting out a load of laundry before I take my oldest to school. I don't finish before she needs to go. I head out the door and realize that the pain is still there from last night. Various muscles are in knots and I wish the knots were in my butt and abs instead of my head, neck, face, and back-I would have some serious tight butt cheeks and abs.
On my way home, I think about life and it's hurts. I think about how chapters seem to be finishing faster than I want them to be. I wish I knew how to keep writing in these chapters, but I suck at some chapters and seasons-and the pages seem to be glued shut. My head tells me to just let it be, just move on, maybe even shut the book-I mean what is there left to write; but my heart keeps trying to pry open the pages of the chapters; I just don't know how to do it. Once home, I decide that I am going to slowly write my post throughout the day, but I discover something called Bloglovin which sends me down a rabbit hole. I still don't really know what it is to be exact, but I signed up, looked at a few "I wish I was as trendy as her" blogs, and then goofed up the whole widget thingy. First, I added 2. Then, I couldn't figure out how to "claim" my blog so now I have some weird text thingy at the top of my last post, and I still don't know exactly what to do with Bloglovin. I'm techy and cool that way. All along in the back of my mind, I know I have unopened emails or ones that I haven't responded to. I feel pretty pathetic at my dysfunction and the stress those thoughts create. I find my blog title ironic right now, because I feel more of a nutcase than ever before. Hey, maybe that is why I am 10 pounds heavier?
My body hurts, but I so want to be productive today. I don't want to feel lazy and like a loser so I attempt the shower to clear sinuses, but I don't wash my hair. My husband says I do much better when I don't bathe. I seriously think he's right-he's right about so many things. That's why he is awesome and better than ice cream-and even diet coke.
I hurry through my shower since I notice that one dog seems like she is looking for a place to pee in my bathroom which isn't like her so I figure she's really gotta go. I hurry, but not without my constant thoughts in the shower. I think about exactly why I am writing these posts about my days and my thoughts-it makes total sense to me so I will keep tapping the keys until my heart tells me otherwise.
I may never make sense of this season of life, but I will write about it.
My body and head hurt too much to sit in the chair so I decide to just sleep. Production will have to wait. I lie in bed trying to position my head just so as to keep it from hurting. I know I need my meds, but I don't want to get up. The pain keeps me from sleeping, but my wonderful husband comes home from work for lunch. He helps me up, and I take the last packet of my over $100 medicine to find relief. This week has been brutal on my body, and I try to figure out exactly why. It is mainly the weather, but I know I need more water. I tell myself I really need to start doing Yoga, but I don't. This is only my fault.
I am sitting on the couch with a head band around my head, 70's style. The added pressure helps with the migraine, but not with how I look. I want to sing "What a feeling" Flashdance style (well, without the stripper club scene), and maybe I will get a body like that. I figure I will just end up in the hospital if I attempt those moves so I'll just go with the head band for the migraine.
My dog is next to me which always makes me feel better. She is beyond therapeutic for me. She is ever present and just loves me. We are besties, and I think we as people should be more like dogs.
I think about Shawn talking to me about finding something that I enjoy or have always wanted to do. He goes through the list: getting involved in theater, painting furniture, decorating, finding a yoga class; but none of that seems right. I realize that I believe that if I dropped out of Seminary, not doing what I thought God wanted me to do, and am in such a bad place that I have no right to do other things that would maybe make me happy. How can I go join a theater when I can't even finish Seminary? I tell myself it just isn't right. I'm not that great at painting furniture. I don't feel called to do it where it would make an impact on peoples' lives like Miss Mustard Seed (that lady rocks) so it seems futile for me-and okay, a little wasteful since I couldn't sell anything do to poor quality, but whatever.
With meds, I am feeling better. I slowly get things done around the house; pick up trash here, put something away there. I get in the zone, and my son gets home. I have no idea what time it is so he scares me half to death when he walks around the corner. I get the vacuum cleaner out to vacuum for the first time in who knows how long.
A storm blows in with much needed rain. The girls get home, and I keep piddling around the house, washing a load of laundry. Someone shows up to talk about doing some work in the yard, and I go outside-but not before I remember that I have the 70's head band thing going on. I quickly rip it off and imagine the "tattoo" I now have on my forehead from said band.
My husband comes home, starts dinner, and I feel the meds wearing off. My body tells me I'm ready to lie down. My vertigo returns from doing dishes and cleaning the kitchen. The dizziness is too much so I curl up in a chair and lie on my left side-this is the best side when I'm dizzy. The family eats while I sleep. I wake up around 8 p.m. feeling a lot less dizzy so I get up and eat. The kids are getting ready for bed while Shawn paints our middle daughter's room.
We sit down, Shawn pays bills, and we talk about what in the world I could do to feel like I have some sense of purpose in life. We get ready for bed, I squirt stuff up my nose to ward off the allergies and headaches, and we are in bed. I'm tapping at the keys for one last sentence-it's 11:30-time for bed.