You made me coffee again this morning. But today you put it in my travel mug so you didn't have to wait til I walked in to pour the boiled water like you do literally every other day. This is really cool.

Thursday before last I needed help.

I have a pair of stud earrings that broke a couple weeks ago and it saddened me because I really liked them, they were unique and they were a gift.

It was just one of the pair and it was the pin that snapped right off the decorative front. My boss, who is very handy and likes the challenge of fixing any random thing brought to him, had fixed another pair last week and inspired me to bring him the three other pair I had been considering asking about.

Two pair were fixed with pliers and by eyes that can take apart any structure. The stud earring, however, was snapped; it didn't have disconnected re-connectable parts so the super glue came out.

It stuck well and looked good but he told me if it didn't hold, he'd take it to work to have it welded. (I hoped it wouldn't come to that because I'd feel immediately cast as high-maintenance.)

I wore them Thursday and with my head at a funny angle, napping on the couch, I heard a depressing, muted "pop" and reached up to my lobe to confirm I had in fact become unglued. Sigh.

The decorative front was in hand but the pin and backing remained in my ear, the front end buried. It bulbed at the end and had dried glue on so I couldn't pull it out through the back. It was also misaligned enough inside my ear that I couldn't push it out the front so I could remove the backing and pin via their normal respective sides.

I was really stuck. It was really stuck.

I pulled and pulled and wiggled and squiggled but no dice. I didn't really want to ask for help cos that makes me a weeine but I wanted the thing out. I can handle physical pain inflicted by others much better than when it's inflicted by myself.


So after trying once more thirty minutes later, I gave up and admitted with mixed emotion that I absolutely needed the help of someone else.


When my boss got home and saw the broken jewelry on the table he piped, "Oh no - it broke again??" with a note of personal disappointment. I turned round and replied quietly, almost wincing, "Yeah. And the back is still in my ear."

His eyes widen. "Really?!"

I nod, growing in squeamishness, begging myself to stop even as the words leave my mouth: "Aaaand I think I need your help getting it out."

He's still looking a little shocked, maybe also still deciding whether I'm pulling his leg.

He barely makes a reply and then a kid has come a-distracting. I'm glad because I still need to steel myself. It's a vulnerable position, you see.

From opposing ends of the kitchen table we chat a bit about everyday anythings and then during a natural break in the conversation he bounds out of his seat because he's suddenly remembered. "OK--let me see that earring."

It's the let's-get-down-to-business or I'm-going-to-solve-this-problem tone of voice usually reserved for getting the kids organised to run errands or for the workplace where he is a supervisor.

I tilt my head and would have strangled anything that was in my whiteknuckling hands. He does a cursory look and touch to assess. He steps back and blurts - in different words - that he's nervous about hurting me.

I tell him he hasn't hurt me yet so he resumes. He fiddles around and I destroy the needle on the Cringe-O-Meter.

I'm not sure it matters who I might have had working that intently at my ear; it's the required proximity, the fleshy, boneless delicateness of an ear lobe, and the jagged end of my earring's pin that made me squeam.

Further, as a predator, my eyes are at the front of my head where my ears aren't so I couldn't even watch what was going on.


[Aside: In truth, I wanted to allow myself to be uncomfortable because I wanted to extend my trust. I wanted to push myself to trust, particularly with something I'd have wanted to manage on my own.]

He was close and focused. I was anxious and silent.

It was a peculiar, intimate and still moment where I could only wait and hope. I was at his mercy, I guess, but I believed he would be kind.

Then it was painful. I tried to minimize my wincing because I didn't want him to chicken out but after four or five grimaces, he backed up again, told me he didn't know what to do and that the face I was making wasn't helping. (If I wasn't so focused on handling the pain, I would have laughed at his squeamishness.)

I assured him that when the pain became too much I would let him know and he must have believed me because he dove back in.  I really did not want to have to go home like this and to figure out some third option for extraction but I think I also really wanted to be helped.

He tells me he wants to separate the two pieces but that he can't get ahold of the pin.  He asks whether I'd be scared if he went and got a pair of pliers.  I exclaim that I was just thinking that might be a good option but didn't say it because it sounded dumb.

By the time I finish that sentence I spy in my periphery the half-accessory in my friend's hand.  He's showing me, wordlessly.  I gawk.  "What did you do??" I blurt.

I presume he shrugged his shoulders as he admitted under duress, "It just came out!"

I felt deep relief quickly.  (I like that feeling.)  I like that the discomfort hadn't been for naught.  I can handle pain for a purpose or with a conceivable end but pointless pain is simply maddening (though still endurable when you expect the Creator to use it for His glory).

I was grateful (and I said as much).

[Editor's note: To be honest, I felt more gratitude and relief because he wasn't uncomfortable being there.  He didn't say no and he didn't look awkward.  I didn't write this post to create a metaphor or a veiled account of something else, something more important or substantial. I wrote what happened because it was a unique experience but here at the end I find there are aspects of the story that touch--not painlessly--on deeper verities.]

well, it's late.

The list of things to think about, to consider, to improve, it keeps growing.  It keeps growing and I feel overwhelmed. I believe the list will have an end, either when things genuinely get better (read: better enough) OR when I find a way to stop making lists (this comes through refinement of character).  This breathless treadmill isn't lifelong; I don't believe it.
As for now, I hope I'm laying tracks for the subway, not putting cab companies on speed-dial [to move several million commuters each day].


[Editor's note: This is one of those weird posts where I can't decide if I want to write the way that feels natural and most fun or if I want to write to be well understood by many.  This is why I end up with bracketed additions.]


I am far more tired than I can handle.  I've been tired for days.  Mercifully, I've been fueled more by delight in relationship than by caffeine for several days this week because of a conversation, a comment or a visit with someone dear to me and being fueled by that delight and that little inner pocket of satiety really is a treasure and I'm thankful. 


(meant to post this at 22.30 last night but my pause to close my eyes and think led to full-on slumber.)

welcome to Wednesday.

My wake-up text came at 5.33 and I replied, "Morning.  Is it Friday?"  Perhaps that's how I feel.  I thought about stuff, turned off my alarm, turned off the heat, rolled over and accidentally fell back asleep.  Yes.  Three minutes after six and I woke up again (on what trigger, I don't know).

Ooh.  I just remembered the NHL trade deadline (....as if even those words mean anything to me).  I think I will try to care for the next two days and do a bit of research.  I'll see where it takes me.


J (the elder) hasn't woken up yet and I'm OK with it.  These brothers provoke one another so when they're separated it generally makes a night-and-day difference.  I appreciate it.  B is having epic ninja cavern battles (in a free game he downloaded to my iPhone) and I took a break from journalling to blog(galing).  Private journal to public joural, I guess. [I wonder how many people have named their public journal "Captain's Log" or "Captain's Blog".  That's now funny to me.]

Hmm.  If I could ever teach these kids to find their indoor voices, I'd be happy.

I miss Stephen Colbert.  Apparently my brain is now sifting random bits of code.  I guess I went to sleep too quickly last night.  I don't mind.  Any mood but devastated-sad is fine by me.

--


OK. 

I think I just discovered something epic. I just took a break where those hyphens are to write a couple sentences in the private journal that's still lying in front of me aaaand now I don't have to swallow my unpublishable thoughts or put them on ice til I'm done typing.  Everything gets to come out, I just have to shift between Column A and Column B.  This could be the start of a beautiful process.  Yum.



---

The Blue Jays lost last night.  I'm not too broken up about it but I'm slightly miffed.  I want to see how this season will go.  It snuck up on me!




---


It was on Sunday afternoon that I started looking forward to going to going to the apologetics-ish class that we've had two weeks of.  There were two Friday-Saturday combos in March, a break for Easter weekend and then we're on this Friday-Satty again. 
It's weird that my anticipation came back spontaneoushly, not like my anticipation built over the 13 days instead of six.  I suppose it could be that I was so tunnel-vision focussed on our Easter Sunday service that I could only think about the class when that service was over.

Anyways, I'm excited and I don't even know how to put it into words.  (I hope the information sinks in and that I use it well.)  The course is taught by my boss, who is possibly the most consistently engaging speaker I've ever known personally.



Yesterday (just a little Tuesday), I was in the auditorium working from the desktop computer.  My boss came in to check out something on the stage.  Our coworker came in later, probably half-looking for our boss (they had a meeting soon) and half-looking to not be working.  He sat in a pew near the back, waiting and using his phone. When my boss was done what he was doing and started heading out, I asked if I could quest him something.  (Those were my words and he didn't blink.)

I handed him a copy of the Holy Bible in the New International Version and asked how much of a problem it would be for me to stop reading at a certain point in a psalm.  I showed him which psalm, telling him I've heard it's bad to take verses out of context and choosing to omit the context I wanted the psalm for, knowing he woud figure it out easily.  He answers on about three different levels (my favourite kind of answer!).


He speaks long enough that it makes sense for me to take a seat in the pew next to my coworker while our boss perches on the back of the pew behind him, Captain Morgan-ing the pew in front.  He sits casually in a teaching position as the two of us casually sit to listen.  My coworker is back and forth between the phone and the speaker but I am on the edge of my seat literally, I have another NIV in my hand to follow along and I'm vaguely conscious about how I'm breaking eye-contact far less than normal.  I'm not making him uncomfortable and I'm not doing it on purpose, I just feel like a shrivelled and almost cracked sponge that's been submerged into cool water. 

I'm soaking it up and hanging on every word, sitting still in the hopes that if I don't stir, I won't remind him he eventually has to stop and go back to his day.  I'm aware this is a kind of teaser for the Friday-Saturday classes I'm longing for and I'm so glad for this impromptu Tuesday that will tide me over til then.  Seriously.  A parched sponge baking in the sun.  Oasis.

Don't look back in anger.

I wish I could do everything

but I guess I have to do one thing at a time.


There's a whole mess of stuff on my bed before me and I'm taking a break from patching to blog.  I've got "The Pink Panther Show" (1969-76) on, as well.

My blinds are drawn because I wanted some sunlight so whenever I'm looking at the telly, I can see how deliciously blustery it is outside.  I wish I had a reason to be caught in it.  I won't wish that at 06.08 tomorrow morning when I'm waiting for the bus.


This afternoon and early evening I've felt a little lost and I hate it.  Why do I think that if I can produce more I will feel better?


Now the urge to blog has passed because I've lost my nerve.  I'm glad to be patching because I want to wear these trousers tomorrow.  I'm also grateful for the friend who spontaneously called tonight and though we didn't talk about what's currently in my craw it was a good, encouraging, helpful, laugh-sprinkled conversation.  I should count my blessings instead of swearing when I get my thread caught.  I wonder what it'd be like if I said everything I thought aloud.


I always tell people I must heavily filter because I'd say things I regret (because I am inwardly a monster, you see) but maybe I'm more concerned about being known and about having too much of myself revealed.  I can't control it once it's outside!  I wish _______.  I wish for more.


I'm on my second cup of Orange Pekoe right now, the first being closely preceded by an Earl Grey.

I was let off work four hours before I expected to be and I'm sure that contributes to my feeling of lostness somehow.  I'm glad that I didn't have a pressing something to rush to and that I could instead make my way into Work B to take care of some things that would help take the edge off my short week.  I then proceeded to the grocery store and had the bitter-sweet experience of forgetting what it's like to buy veg and other cookable meal-part foods.  (I've been eating out and doing sporadic grocery shops for a while, you see.)

I decided it was time.  And I had the time!  I'm trying to make better decisions and take control of my life in a good way (if even a Christian can say that). I hope tomorrow is better.  I hope I know what to do!  It's not the day and sometimes it's not even the events.  I need to get my head straight.




I often think about writing on my hand a succinct phrase that will help me remember the thing I wish to keep at the forefront of my mind for a particular day, situation or season.  I keep saying that's silly and I loathe the idea of explaining it to anyone who might glimpse the ink -- or at least I loathe the idea of having to explain it repeatedly.  Today on the way home I wrote something on my hand but it wasn't the kind of thing I should write.  I wrote the weight of an adult's upper body funneled through the hands they've placed on my neck as they straddle me on the ground.  I'm not fighting.  Maybe I hope they take my life.  I wrote the punch in the face that I perpetually hope is coming; I wrote the physical beating that I want to last forever and that I hope disfigures me.


I wrote what I shouldn't have written.



You could argue that if I penned those words and meant them that I'm calling Jesus a liar.  I don't mean to do that.  But... William Cowper.  But, Psalm 13.



Be something.  Be right for me.


----

How long, O Lord?  Will you forget me forever?
   How long will you hide your face from me?

How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
   and every day have sorrow in my heart?
   How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
   Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
my enemy will say, "I have overcome him,"
   and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
   my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord, for he has been good to me.