It lived up to its name today.
Nothing quite went right; computer issues to boot, a total of approximately three full commuter hours (lost), an aching run, an aching head.
It's pouring out now, I feel, somehow, that I should now have some relief, but nothing is forthcoming. The rain, and the steady sound of it, coaxed me out of bed, where I was trying to read and sleep, but it would have none of it.
I sat at the edge of my bed for a while before coming out here to write, turning on lights, wrapping myself in a sweatshirt.
I sat there and pondered my own life questions, am I special enough, unique enough? Does being human alone just guarantee me that feeling of right-ness to be alive. Alive-ness, living-ness, all that business associated with it.
But really I feel like just a tiny speck on this miniscule planet, floating around in this giant galaxy, and somewhere in all of this, heaven is supposed to fit in, a bunch of stars running around, shining like mad, glowing down on us as if to say "Look...it will all be okay".
I don't feel that today. Yes, I'm still reading the L'Engle, and yes, she has great things to say about moving beyond all this fear, towards grace, the grace of living life in spite of the things that plague us, the love, the letting go. I adore her take on it all, and I can read between the lines to know that it did not happen overnight.
It's my journal, that's why these entries are titled like this. For me, to me. From me.
I wish I were more tired, more able to cope, more able to accept, but I guess that the act of even typing these words and adding them up into phrases is an act of some acceptance.
I guess that getting up from sitting on the edge of my bed, and coming out here to write was an act of turning my back on fear. Talking to M about what I want, what I feel, where I want to be; that too was something I had to reach for. The difficult. I want easy (I want it even though I know I will learn nothing from it. It's just a want. It doesn't mean that it will happen.)
Years ago I learned the expression 'there are no guarantees in life'. This is true, absolutely. But sometimes there are less guarantees than others.
Ruminating. This is journalling for me right now. It's not pictures of me in my outfit for the day, it's not running around the city with an umbrella getting cute shots of me in the rain.
It's Friday, and yes, I might be the only unmarried-childless-quirky-alone-with-a-boyfriend-in-another-city girl here at home, a veritable shut in while I experiment with just how hot I can make curry chicken in the oven, and just how patient I am with Rogers On Demand (read: zero).
But I am where I want to be.
Except right now, sleep and no headache would be my heaven.