Right now, I am sitting on our loveseat looking out our window. It is snowing and has been for about 6 hours now. The snow is now reflecting enough light to turn the sky into a sort of bruised purple. My twinkle lights I left over from Christmas to try and stretch goodness are the only lights in the room. I think it is perfect and beautiful. It is 4:32am and there are currently two voices shouting at me in my head. One, (probably the good and virtuous one) says that I need to go to bed and that I can’t/shouldn’t miss church tomorrow…eh, today. The other, says I can lay in bed all day and not feel guilty. The latter will probably win. The first won last week so it really just seems fair.

I may seem insensitive, maybe even apathetic, but hey, this is the real deal.

A couple moments from today which seemed to freeze and slow down so that blinks seemed to last 4 seconds each and gazes take too long:

We went to WinCo; a place which, if turned human, I would marry in an instance. As I walked the aisle between the avocados and the bell peppers, a 50ish-year-old man walked by. I was invisible to him as he almost knocked me over and I tried to dodge. Again, while getting some bulk basmati rice a man walked by and I flinched, pressing myself up against the bulk food bins while still attempting to inconspicuously shovel rice into an overflowing bag. As I walked through the isle which contained body washes and deodorants, I was spatially assaulted by another three men. Each, I’m sure was kind and good, but I dodged and flinched as my brain told me they were coming to get me, to take me, to hurt me. Time slowed as I bagged the groceries in a disorderly fashion and I tried to catch a breath that wouldn’t stay long enough in my lungs.

I made chili about 2 nights and ago and it has been in a crockpot slowly becoming more and more infused ever since. As I spooned up some of my pride in chili form, some very kind and very good friends teased me about my cooking. I laughed and hid my face from the living room where they sat, trying to talk myself from jumping off the cliff into panic.

We played truth or dare like little kids. I now understand why I don’t play that anymore. For some reason, whenever you play it opens up floodgates and takes down walls in others that didn’t come down in years of friendship. It can hurt. And sting. And it stung, slowly.

The two voices in my head fought while playing cards and I took turns mentally beating each one up. I am not sure which I agree with yet, so I am just going to start by eliminating them both, or, at least trying to.

I wrote a paper about a man who died almost 500 years ago and who I have an intense crush on. Albrecht, a humanist painter would paint himself and animals to glorify God. As I sat and wrote, I listened to Joywave and transported back to their concert where I was last hopeful. As I shook my head with the beat, my freshly chopped hair flew in easy whips which felt light and easy, and I laughed and sang and danced and embraced my homemade haircut in slow-mo.

It is now 5:26am.

The jury is in and the latter voice has definitely won.

Much love,


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