And hello to you.
I had the grandest of plans to write a long post yesterday. I was going to bore you to tears about my birthday and the days following and the weekend and Downton Abbey.
I was going to tell you that my birthday was really, really wonderful. And that is largely due to the fact that I have really, really amazing friends and family. I mean, really. I literally had a gastronomical tour of southern Denver, going from breakfast at the office to lunch with Melanie to dinner with Lizz and cake with my mom. I went to bed happy, content. And to be honest, those nights can seem few and far between.
I was also going to tell you that I had scheduled a baking party with my Women's Group for Thursday night. We were going to have a cupcake class (how fun is that?!!), but I ended up being stuck in traffic for over an hour and there was no time to change clothes, swing by the grocery store and make it to the other side of town in 30 minutes. I was super sad and disappointed but the girls rallied and took me to coffee instead. It was the next-best thing.
I was then going to tell you about how I had a whopper of a pity party on Friday night. I did, all by myself. No one else was invited. In my pathetic pity-like state, I did what any good self-absorbed wacko would do: I sat on the couch and refused to do anything I didn't want to do. It was awesome. And I felt so mature. And to be honest, I have no idea why I was having a pity party. For some reason a big, blue cloud of funk settled into my brain and camped out. And I felt entitled to wallow around in it for a while.
It wasn't my finest hour.
Thankfully, Saturday rolled around and His mercies are new every morning and somehow I made it to Bible study and then drove all the way to Alamosa. I was going to tell you that it is colder than the backside of Antarctica in that town and that somehow my lips didn't freeze together. I was also going to mention that my Dad is doing great and we had the best artichoke spinach dip ever and that we spent an hour and a half in Walmart while everyone else was watching the very sad, very depressing Broncos game.
And then, well, Sunday rolled around and my plan was to tell you all about how I finally did a load of laundry because all I had left were my ugly clothes and the world does not need to see me in those. Plus, I saw my home girl Tara and we talked about boys and traveling and boys again. Then I watched Downton Abbey and cried for Edith and somehow related to her being the middle child and jilted in love. (Sigh.)
I was going to tell you all of this yesterday then something happened: my fingers began to tingle. My vision became blurry. I felt sick to my stomach and could no longer focus on anything. And that was all before the pain hit. And then it did, like the force of a mac truck on fire. A migraine, and all of its side affects, hit me at work yesterday and it felt like a magma-hot poker was deeply embedded into my right frontal lobe.
Thankfully, my office is sympathetic towards frontal lobe issues and I somehow made it home and slept for five hours.
Today is a much better day! Just don't ask me to do a cartwheel. I am pretty sure my brain would fall out of my ears if I did that.
So...my plan was to tell you all of that.
My plan was to tell you that at one moment I can be at peace with life and the next moment I can be completely discontent and angry.
I was going to tell you that sometimes you get stuck in traffic and your big plans for night are changed.
I was going to mention that driving 3.5 hours each way is totally worth it if you get to eat dip with your dad.
And I was going to tell you that ugly clothes should never leave your closet and sometimes you really do get jilted in love.
And I was also going to say that sometimes God brings pain into your life just so you can rest.
Maybe I'll try to write that all out tomorrow.