Sorry, I took off for a bit to have a really great weekend. Although I think I am getting sick, which certainly does blow. I have zero energy and my entire body hurts. I feel like someone picked me up and shook me really hard, and not in that good 'you shook me all night long' kind of way. More like all my bones and muscles are slightly loose and smashing around in my body. Blah.
Advent is a not-quite-there kind of time. And I sometimes feel like I'm living a not-quite-there kind of life, so I guess the timing is rather good. Seriously, aren't 33-year-olds supposed to be a lot more pulled-together than I am? The number just sounds so old and grown-up and then I look at myself and say...nuh-uh. Not even close.
I'm sort-of good at a lot of things, I sort-of know what I want to do with what I think is left of my life, and I sort-of think I'm getting maybe a bit better at this faith business. But there's not much I can point to and say, there, that, see, I did something and it is finished, or its outcome is assured. Not much that my parents could write about in their Christmas newsletter, if they had such a thing. Someone observing the major plot points of my life story this year would conclude that I am a total loser.
Of course, I can look at times in my life when I have made monumentally stupid decisions just to get out of feeling not-quite-there - times when I've picked stability because it was the easy thing to do, or because instability was more than I thought I could handle. Also times when I've given up on something which might have been good just because I couldn't handle the awkward part between starting and being good at it. Ask me how many times I've learned to knit.
I fear that I am, in fact, a gigantic flake, and not the cute snow kind.
Ignore me. I am whining today. I am freaking out.
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