Black and Blue

When I was in high school, I played tennis. There was a girl on our team who would get upset with herself about a bad shot and hit herself in the calf with her tennis racket. She literally had bruises up and down her leg from hitting herself.

When I was in college, a friend told me that she used to be a cutter. She would feel so sad, so alone, that she would take a knife to her own skin to feel better. In high school, her friend had to take her to the hospital because she cut herself so deep, she couldn't stop the bleeding.

When I was out of school, I realized that I do the same thing to myself. I've never hit myself so hard I've bruised. I've never cut myself intentionally. But I punish myself all the same.

I've realized lately that a lot of my issues come from me being too hard on myself.

I beat myself up all the time.

Why is it so easy for me to show grace to others, but not myself?

I should move to Arizona.

This morning my alarm went off at 6:09a (because then I can hit my 7-minute snooze button three times and wake exactly at 6:30a; yes, I am that weird). Luckily, my alarm is set to radio wake, so I caught the traffic report on 105.7FM. Turns out, it sucked.

Overnight, it had rained/drizzled/sleeted/snowed just enough that roadways and overpasses were slick. Now mind you, I live in Michigan. This happens ALL THE TIME. Yet the first time it happens each winter, people forget how to drive.

So out of my three options to get to work, car accidents had eliminated two of them. And my third choice turned out to have a) a jack-knifed semi on half the road (half in the ditch) b) two more roadside assists by emergency vehicles for cars run off the road and c) a deer running in front of my car.

Yes, I made it to work safely. Yes, I should live in Arizona.

Girly

As much as I try to deny it, I can be extremely girly. Saturday my friend Al invited me to go looking for the bridesmaid dress that I (and four other girls) will be wearing in her wedding. Al's sister Ashleigh came along and we stopped at three stores to look at dresses (among other things).

Good outcomes of the day: we found two potentials, we didn't kill each other (you know how sisters can be - and I would end up in the middle!), we had fun girly bonding time, and every dress I tried on fit in a size 10.

I know that last comment sounds vain or even a little ridiculous (gasp! a size 10! I'm a size 4), but it was a plus for me. I was the chubby girl in middle school and I've never been a Barbie clone (not that I would want to be), so I've always had a bit of an issue with my weight. Gaining 10 lbs this year and dropping only 5 of them has me a bit annoyed.

So I don't care if I'm actually a 10 or if those companies fudge the numbers to make women feel better about themselves and buy more - I wore a 10 yesterday.

And I was only sucking in a little.

Have you ever had one of those days when you realize that you've been working and working really hard to try to accomplish something that will benefit many and then all of a sudden you realize that all your work was for nothing?

Happy Thursday.

No Excuse

I broke my commitment of blogging every weekday again. I have excuses, but we all know what good excuses are. However, I will give them. Monday I was struck with the flu, so I was at home and didn't blog. Then Tuesday all I could think of blogging about was having the flu and nobody wants to hear about that.

So today, no puke. Just insecurities. I borrowed my friend's HappyLite today. It's a light that simulates the sun's presence. It helps with my seasonal depression. But it's insanely bright so anyone walking within 10 feet of my officle would notice an odd glow coming from next to my computer screen. And I don't want them to ask. Cause I'm insecure with either of my response options.

Option a) yep, it's a bright light. No, I'm not trying to get a tan.
Option b) yep, it's a bright light. No, I'm not trying to get a tan. I'm depressed.

So you can either pray that I get over this insecurity. Or pray that no one asks. I'd be happy either way.

Harelip Prayers

I'm reading The Brothers K again because it's my favorite book in the whole entire world. And every page reminds me why its my favorite book in the whole entire world because every page is beautiful.

One thing that struck me last night was a story Kincaid told about a girl in his Sunday School. She had a harelip - a deformity that occurs when the space between the nasal passage and the upper lip doesn't develop (my layman's definition). She prays long prayers that are practically incomprehensible to everyone else because of her speech with her harelip: "Nord Neesus! Nlease nome ninto nour nives..."

Everyone is quite embarrassed when she prays because it seems like she should just stop. But she prays louder and longer and more fervently. Why? Because it is what she is meant to do. It makes her complete. She would not be if she didn't offer her prayers.

We all have harelip prayers. Something in our life that we must do. We're driven, we're called, we're meant to do it.

I sound like an adult today

I have not said anything genius. I have not nagged or talked about how expensive life is. I haven't even waxed poetical about the wonders of the latest technology.

I wore high heels. Every time I wear high heels, I feel more grown-up. It's the sound they make when they click clack across tile floor. It's the extra effort I take when I walk so I don't accidentally trip and fall flat on my face.

Click-clack. Click-clack. Sounds like an adult walking down that hall.

Admit It

Sometimes I have a hard time admitting things. Especially in front of new people I don't necessarily know. I want to make a good first impression, make them think I'm cool and interesting.

Truth is, I'm boring. I have the worst habits. And I'm not a very nice person. So lately, I've been trying to admit things and be honest. It's working out okay so far. But I'm just waiting for the day when I admit a truth about myself and get myself in trouble. The day will come.

But until then, I admit things. Like I like Dawson's Creek. Agh! Start the judging, people.

Could he love me more?

My husband is wonderful. He loves the way I look. He loves my sense of humor. He loves it when I'm goofy, loves it when I'm serious. I think he even loves my weird quirks.

So, could he love me anymore?

The answer now is no. Because I have done the thing that brings my husband's love for me to the ultimate pinnacle.

I have discovered my love for Barry Sanders.

Seriously, this guy is amazing. Have you ever seen a highlight reel of his plays? I'm not even a huge football fan and I know this guy is frickin' brilliant. I've posted a link to You Tube so you, too, can appreciate his genius.

Barry Sanders on YouTube

So now my husband has everything he wants in a wife, including an equal love for Barry.

The Office-a-thon

I didn't start watching the tv show The Office until I caught a couple reruns over the summer. Boy, was I in trouble.

Now, I am obsessed. I just watched disc one of Season Two and I'm going to work my way through the rest of the season. I might go back and rent Season One too. The characters are hilarious, the situations amazingly awkward. You can't help but squish your face up in near horror as you watch these coworkers bumble through their days in The Office.

Wow. Cracks me up. Tonight, new episode. I can't wait. Neither should you. Go watch it.

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

I am not a music connoisseur. You may even think my taste in music is bad. But this new song from John Mayer grooves me.

Perfect song for a night full of thunderstorms and candlelight. Put this song on, grab your honey and start slow dancing in a burning room.

Man, does that John Mayer know what he's doing with a guitar.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

I admit it - I occasionally lie. But it's always justifiable. I lied to make someone feel better; I lied to keep someone from feeling bad; I lied to help the general good of mankind; my lies are never big and no one got hurt. That makes it okay, right?

Is there any absolute in lying? Can I only do it if it's a little white lie? Can I absolutely never lie at all? What do you think?