I'm not sure what to write about.
Do I tell you about how I beat myself up this morning? I mean, there are no abrasions or contusions (words I've picked up from Handsome's work lingo), but emotionally, it was pretty much Tyson v. Holyfield this morning. I may have even bit off my own ear, emotionally speaking. Whatever that means.
Do I tell you that the only reason it stopped is because God spoke gently to me, reminding me that all of the lousy, misdirected, and downright wrong things I've done are set right beside all of the wonderful, perfect, ingenious things I've done, and they're all just filthy dirty laundry to Him? That He loves me for one reason, and one reason only: because He made me, and decided to love me. That He loves you for the same reasons, in the same way? Do I share these things with you?
Do I tell you something light? Like I've begun looking for Christmas presents for people, and I've finally decided what to make. I like to make presents for people, both because I'm cost-adverse, and because I think they're more meaningful. I don't make my brothers socks, especially if they really want XBox games, but if I think a person will like something, I make it. And if all goes as planned this year, they're really going to like it.
Do I tell you something incriminating about myself? Confess to you and tell you that I ate chips and dip for dinner? That I've enacted an embargo against all stores selling my dip of choice, at least until 2012? That I have to take such serious measures, or else I'll eat 1/2 of a container in one sitting (on a good day, when my self-control isn't totally shattered), which is technically over 5 servings? That I'm not sure how many more sentences should have question marks in this paragraph?
Do I tell you something impressive about myself, really "wow!" you with some of my skills? I bought a bench this weekend at a yard sale, and re-upholstered it. This was my first time re-upholstering, and it went well. I love my new staple gun. I love my new bench.
|Top Row: Original, middle layer|
Middle Row: bottom layer, bare bones
Bottom: Newly Recovered, corner closeup
Do I try and share some wisdom with you? Hard-won wisdom, gained through many nights of fighting and tearing-up, prayers and yells? Like when disagreeing with your husband, ladies, just because you're crying doesn't mean he's done something wrong. That one took me a long while. Feelings. Pfft. Or another one I've wrestled with this last weekend, that I will not yell at my husband for displaying a character trait that I admire in him. I wanted him to change his plans at the last minute, ditch his responsibilities, and do something I wanted. And when he wouldn't, I pouted. Doing what I asked would have been contrary to his character, where he always tries to follow through on things; where his word is good. It is crazy to pick a fight with him for being a man of his word. Crazy I tell you. Sometimes I'm crazy.
Do I dream with you? Tell you how I wish someday to visit Italy and Greece? Mexico, France, and Ireland, are on the list, too. Tell you that I would love to be good at grilling a steak, and I want many babies and a few dogs, all growing up on a large farm? That I'm excited about Thanksgiving, since my parents will be celebrating with us?
Do I dare to go political with you? Ask you if you voted today? I did not. I don't even know if there was any voting to be done today in my county/state. I would have liked to know, but I couldn't find any information on it. I hope I didn't miss my chance to participate in government. Did you know that I received a voter registration card inside of my 18th birthday card? That it was in the mail the next day? That sometimes, when things seem especially crazy, I want the aforementioned farm to be in Australia?
Do I go random, and get back on my compound words soapbox? Really, English Language? Really? "High school" is two words but "aforementioned" and "nevertheless" get to be one? Really??
Or do I just tell you "Hey" and thank you for checking in here? I can't decide. Perhaps I just won't say anything at all.
Mum's the word,