This day may be looking up...

Emails, making two calls (to the weather, it was 24 at last check, and to my dad for a diplomatic question), text messages, writing emails, getting emails, talking to my papa, who is going to NYC for my aunt's college roommate's court appeal tomorrow, as I close the open tabs on Firefox, I couldn't close it on this one without posting it.

And now, God, do it again—
bring rains to our drought-stricken lives
So those who planted their crops in despair
will shout hurrahs at the harvest,
So those who went off with heavy hearts
will come home laughing, with armloads of blessing.

(Psalm 126:6, The Message)

a dyslexic walks into a bra

Internets, I again wake up way too late to shower and get to work on time. I don't want to go. (Although, granted, once I got there, yesterday was an okay day.) I think it's that I need a push out the door.

I am convinced (in a fantasy, googling information stage) that changing careers now would be a good thing--they need nurses, and nurses make more money. I got the paycheck with this year's increase and I have realized (again, for the umpteenth time) I will never be rich if I stay at my current job. I don't want to be rich, but comfortable, that might be nice. Having the say so that I can pay for a conference if the library won't. Oh, but I guess I wouldn't be going to conferences for librarians if I was a nurse. Crap. Why didn't I meet and marry a computer nerd in my twenties? (Oh, have I just dug a hole in which you dear reader will make me pay for in the comment box? I'll beg depression as an excuse...)

I finally told my mother that fixing my door would cost close to $500. That smells she says. (What?) "That sucks," she rewords, "and I never say that word." (It's true.) I'm not sure if I know a lawyer, but I want to. (The warranty that I bought won't cover this repair.) (The door broke two days after I bought the car.)

My first floor neighbor has returned. (the rest of this paragraph has been moved to an unpublished location for containing thoughts that belong in my journal.)

I'm going to be late. Now tell me why, in the fall, when taking a shower wasn't going to shock my system, I regularly while depressed didn't take one, but now, when I can tell it's REALLY cold outside, I insist on one, which will make me later?

I have started reading Praise Habit by David Crowder and let me tell you--he rocks. This could be the best Christian non-fiction I've read in AGES. He's so normal. (Whereas I'm still at the point where talking about my faith/writing about my faith sounds like sci-fi.)

Oh, and I gobbled Meg Cabot's Big Boned last night in one fell swoop. I couldn't have savored it over a few days? No, I had to read the whole thing. Crap. Now I just have books that other people have said are good. Do I really have to go to work?

And I want to GET THERE--it's the day of all my favorite co-workers. I just called and N, who is the sweetest lady I know answered, said, "Get here when you can" which I know if I was a nurse would probably never be the case.

Can I do a do-over? Seriously, can my alarm go off at 7:30 and I actually get up and take the shower I so badly desire but can't move off this chair to even get the warm water started?

GAH! This post may self destruct in eight hours, as you may have noticed quite a few of my posts lately have been doing.

"I didn't [sob, sob] call [sob, sob] you!," I say.

One of my favorite lines from Girl's Poker Night. Ruby has had a really bad week and when she went to see her therapist, she sits there the whole time, sobbing on and off or just being silent. So her therapist calls her at home.

"This is Ella Gallagher calling," she says. As opposed to writing? Of course she's calling! You don't need to tell me you're calling!

"Um, yes, hi, Ella," I say.
"You're still upset," she says.
"I'm not still upset..." [which turns into more sobbing.]
"You know I don't like phone sessions," she says.
"I didn't [sob, sob] call [sob, sob] you!," I say.

So tomorrow is another doctor day. Chiro at 8:45, therapy at 11, and dentist at 3:45. I'm getting a crown put on. YAY!

********

This post was originally written and posted on June 3, 2007. Even if my therapist does have space for me, I don't know if I'd have time, since I'm still sitting here in my bathrobe. (I just did the math...if I got in the shower now and got to work by 10 I could do it. I'd have to relegate errands to tomorrow.)

No, I have not started packing for my Christmas trip home. The scab on my broken heart got pulled off (yes, by me--kicking self, but also giving myself a little grace--so human am I) last night.

But the very cool gift for my brother arrived the other day, so I will rest in that. Because I have to find rest somewhere.