Some days are better than others.
Some days I wonder if I’ll ever have time again. For anything. I look back at that naïve little person I used to be who thought her house was never clean enough and I scoff. I guffaw. If only that person could see this house now. It has never recovered from when it flooded back in September and we had to move everything in every room to somewhere else in some other room. The piles that were started then have turned into gigantic mounds of heaping stink that I’ll never get to. Never. I can’t even seem to put pictures back on the walls, let alone get rid of the stink.
Some days I am overcome by feelings of self-consciousness that I can’t get rid of, no matter how I try. I do not wish to be spoken to for I do not wish to speak. I do not wish to be looked at nor thought of. More than anything, I wish to put on pajamas and crawl into the corner of my big brown couch. Sometimes the relief when getting in my car at the end of the work day brings me to tears. Finally I can breathe, be alone and go home where it’s safe. The people at home can speak to me, look at me, think of me all they wish. It is them that I long for.
Some days I realize that I am really not such a bright, burning, streaking ball of gunk as I thought I was. I’m actually barely a flicker of a burned up, ashy lump of coal. And I don’t get it. I really don’t. I want to mean something with my whole heart. I want to enter into this life with all that I have. But some days I just can’t bring myself to do any better than going through the motions. Somehow it gets us all through that day and on to the next and that can’t be all bad, right?
Some days Lent seems to drag on and on.
And yet the goodness goes on. It’s a week of two old friends and my heart bursts to the point of aching to get out of this office and see them. Kirsty arrived here from England last night and I haven’t seen her yet. But when I do, I’m going to kiss her face. And I’m going to kiss the face of the sweet baby she came to see too. And then tomorrow I get on a plane to go see Jackie, who I am assured has all kinds of good food to stuff in my face (starting with gnocchi upon arrival from the airport tomorrow afternoon) as well as tickets to Over the Rhine for the two of us Sunday evening. And when I see her, I’m going to kiss her face. And her babies’ faces too. And what the heck – I’ll just go ahead and kiss her husband’s face while I’m at it. He is French, after all.
Some days I find that the goodness overwhelms the hardness and makes it better.