Back of the House

Things are actually happening over at my theological/religious/spiritual blog .

I am in a public workplace which happens to be an academic environment where the faculty is half women, dressed as I wish, and I have barn-door-wide-open discourse on an uncensored Internet. They haven't won. It's good enough for me.

Because I am weak, I bought the audiobook of  Carry On, Warrior . Yes, I already own the Kindle and hardcover editions, but sometimes a girl needs to hear about child labor and fake-vacuuming with a doll stroller on the way into work. This weekend, I listened to a chapter of the book where Glennon talks about a rough patch in her marriage. Actually, the term "rough patch" does not begin to convey the situation. Here, read: Craig and I have two recurring problems in our marriage. I feel sad when I don't get listened to, and Craig feels sad when he doesn't get made out with. I am starting to understand that these two problems are related. They're both about intimacy. Craig and I lack intimacy. When we talk, we seem to miss each other; it's like we're communicating on different planes. I'm high and low, and he's in the middle. We don't connect. And when we have sex, we don't really connect either. And that's not even the baldest th...

How am I, Really? Better than I thought I’d be. My daughter is an only child. I did not WANT my daughter to be an only child, but here I am. I cried a lot of the run up to the first day of kindergarten because that meant the world would get a slightly bigger share of my baby than it had had before, and I have no other babies to have for myself. Ultimately, it's a pretty selfish attitude, but what can you do? The heart wants what it wants and WHAT I WANT IS TO KEEP MY BABY GIRL SAFE FOREVER, THANKYOUSOVERYMUCH. But the first day came, and she was so brave, and so smart, and so awesome, the pride just shoved the grief out of the way and hollered, OUTTA THE WAY! INCREDIBLE GIRL COMING THROUGH! And that's how I am, Really. How are you, Really?

So, slowly but surely, 40 is creeping up. I was 39 and a half two Fridays ago. This is not news, because my knees and shoulders have been slowly but surely telling me for quite some time now. Hey, are those stairs? *crunchcrunchcrunchcrunchcrunch* Is that an unreasonably heavy door in the workplace? *stabbypainstabbypain* Congratulations! You're nearly 40! Right, then. So, a few of my friends have preceded me into fortyhood, or will, in a matter of weeks and months. The ones who seem to be smuggling the least amount of Rice Krispies in their joints seem to do some sort of physical Thing. A friendly acquaintance from college runs quite seriously. Another friend from college is into Tae Kwon Do. People I work with go to the gym and do the circuit, do pilates or play softball or somesuch. I don't have a Thing. I used to. It used to be martial arts, but I don't know about that anymore. It's not cheap, and because it's not cheap, it requires a commi...

So I just finished this book, Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed  by Glennon Doyle Melton . Holy crap. Holy  crap. Holy crap. I'm going to be responding to various specific essays and themes in the days and weeks to come, on and off, but, yeah. This one is dead on, even if you don't struggle with bulimia and alcoholism, even if you don't tangle with mental illness, even if you don't have kids. Glennon gets it. Whatever it  is, she gets it. And then she shares it. So, yeah. Watch this space.

Well, I've done it. I've admitted I need help. I can't do this alone, and it's not fair to burden Tor or Cheryl with it. I can't make Herself live in such chaos anymore. I've contacted a professional organizer. With G-d as my witness, I will never trip over my carpet cleaner again. What did you think I was going to say? You'd think I had a history of dramatic announcements involving my mental health or something...