Coming home after a day of chauffeuring that completely disrupts my day I do enough chores to make it look like I do enough chores.
Driving all over town is enough to make anyone get down; needing to go to the bathroom when you’re late somewhere; nearly running out of gas, running into my husband’s employees in my front yard in my pajamas this morning; hitting the curb and scraping the front of my newish car. Last night I dented my husband’s fender. Yesterday, I was unable to make decisions on Christmas lights at the hardware store. After twenty minutes of indecision I walked out empty handed and overwhelmed by my muddled head.
I feel it in my bones – I am still carrying depression around. It feels like a punishment for a crime I cannot identify. This is wrong.
The skies are not even gray, rather white and as usual it gets me down.
The road on the southeast side of town is bumpy and uncared for, the neighborhood’s buildings are depressed and rundown. I tell my daughter clearly how wrong this is that this area of town is so neglected, oppressively so. They don’t even fix the roads here and in our neighborhood in the same city the streets are quite literally washed and swept. This is wrong.
I think about the economy and the need for jobs. Perhaps I need a job. I would do almost anything, I think. I could do any job. I’m college educated. I notice the crossing guard isn’t a retired person like I usually see, but a man about my husband’s age. What unimaginable difficulties would drive a middle-aged man to be a crossing guard? I mean I would take that job for something to do, but to need to do so? This is wrong.
I actually napped this afternoon – an anathema, I can barely live with the shame. I just couldn’t get my body to do anything else but sneak inside the house like a criminal, so the dog wouldn’t hear me. I skulked up the stairs with my coat still on, flipped on the alarm so I wouldn’t miss my daughter’s need for a ride, and fell slowly into sleep. Although my mind and body cannot figure anything else to do, I feel ashamed of sleeping middle of the day. This is wrong.
I consider cancelling my appointment tomorrow. Two times I open up my phone to send the email. Two times I question myself. Why exactly am I cancelling? It would be easier to convince her than myself that I have a good reason. Honestly I think that I just cannot bear it and know that this is just when I need to go. I still do not know if I will end up going.
I got tired of myself today. So many random chaotic thoughts. I am an agitator online and I don’t think that’s very Godly. I ask myself is it for agitation’s sake that you ask so many questions or is it that you actually want to make things better? Of course, make things better for women in the church I answer. How does all this idea slinging online accomplish that exactly? It makes people think. Yes, but does it actually change anything? I don’t know. All I know is I am tired of myself.
Exhausted by my dissatisfaction. I’m not sure where it comes from. When did I become so frustrated with the church? And how am I helping to be a positive force? But the last time I got agitated about something — how artists are encouraged in the church — I came away with two jobs to do for them that have nothing really to do with that. I keep thinking just do this good work so that I build some chips up so that people will listen to me. Make change that way. Perhaps, or perhaps I’m just busy doing a bunch of church activities for other’s agenda’s that I don’t even really feel that strongly about? This is wrong.
I am tired. What is the root of my frustration about the way that women are perceived in the church? I cannot clearly identify it. I flip on my “Happy” lamp, and begin to write. I am hoping to find some answer in my own grasping for words.