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I'm not even kidding when I cry, "Uncle!" I just simply say enough. I have been taught to choose silence when I am upset as I might say something I regret.
What can I say? I'm a rebel. So I here I am blogging. Really, when you think about it--I'm not SAYING anything. I'm just writing.
I'm just unwound. I think my life might be on a souped up version of that Ashton Kutcher show Punked. Gotta be honest... been hit from a lot of sides here lately. And I can handle a punch here or there. But I reached a tipping point today 36 hours ago when I first started this blog post.
I won't even go into details. It's just too ludicrous to repeat. And I made a solemn vow as I was praying in my car about the situation. When all I could say in disbelief was, "Jesus. Jesus. Jesus." Then I said, "I refuse to give this any more life. I refuse to give this any more of my time and energy. I refuse to let it consume one more second of my day."
For the people driving near me, you can continue to think I was singing out loud in my mini-van. Singing. Talking to God out loud. Making solemn vows. Rebuking the devil to get the heck away from me.
(P.S. I know I said not one more second to be given to this and here I am typing it for all of posterity on this world wide web. But, truly, I am refusing to receive the discouragement from said incident).
There's a crazy train blowing through town. And I'm afraid to say that I'm the conductor. And it's not even one big crazy. It's just a little crazy piled on top of another little crazy.
Technology glitches. Rude people. Solicitors calling at the worst possible moment. Bad hair days. Traffic. Lady Antebellum's tour bus catching fire and shutting down an entire Dallas highway on a bridge for a while.
And at some point, you wanna pull your hair out. Climb under the covers and just hide. Rock in fetal position in the corner.
That was a good year. I spent my afternoons playing with my friends on my street, passing hours playing Barbies or on my neighbor, Beth's, play scape in her backyard. We roamed around until dark and watched the fire flies come out. I spent my evenings in our sweet basement where I watched television shows like Different Strokes or Facts of Life. My biggest concern was learning all the lyrics to my favorite Amy Grant album. Or Hall and Oates. Or Barry Manilow. I may or may not have owned a record of two of his, also.
I couldn't wait to be an adult. Where I could set my OWN bedtime. Because I just knew my parents were doing something fun after I had to go to bed.
I had no clue that they were actually feeling like the crazy train hit and they just wanted to beg to not have to adult today.
Thank goodness for friends where you don't have to hide your crazy. But they laugh with you and send funny e-cards via group texts. Thank goodness for friends who are daily praying for you, when maybe you don't have the energy to pray for yourself. Thank goodness for family who share you crazy gene. And wild moments of singing lyrics at the top of our lungs as we clear the dinner table.
And thank goodness for a God who knows my crazy. Even better than I do. Thank goodness that he knew this day--this week of frustrations and set backs and "near break-throughs" but "not yet's" and angry people and busy days and weird schedules-- he knew it all.