I am not one of those women with the self-hate tape playing constantly in my head. I have a pretty fair assessment of my strengths and my weaknesses. So the "not thin enough, not pretty enough, not young enough, not whatever enough" tape is nowhere to be found, Chez Ravelled. For which I am most profoundly grateful.
But I've had a nagging sense of "not enough" in recent days. Not enough sleep. Not enough protein. Not enough of the right kind of calories. Not enough energy on a consistent basis. Not enough time to do everything I should be doing, much less all that I want to be doing.
I'm not feeling unwell. I am feeling a little out of sync. I made a beeline for the temple after work today. I had an appointment to join a baptismal session at 6:00. I made it with sufficient time to have more cards printed up (these for a marriage sealing and three sealings of daughters to parents) and to inhale a sandwich and an oatmeal cookie.
The baptisms were awesome, in the non-cliche sense of the word. This was my great grandfather's first wife, their two sons, their daughter, and a daughter in law. I realized tonight that Amanda was 15 and a half when she married, and not yet 17 when she had their daughter. I completed the next set of ordinances for the women. I was getting ready to seal the second wife to her parents when the fire alarm went off. Neither the building engineers nor the fire department could get it to stay off. So they sent everybody home.
I drove home feeling a little flat. I don't know if it was simple physical tiredness from the wonky sleep I've been getting this week, or a fluctuation in my blood sugar, or if maybe I was picking up the disappointment of four women who had been anticipating my finishing their work tonight, and now they have to wait until the next time I go to the temple. The veil (between mortality and the spirit world) is a whole lot thinner for me since Beloved passed. I definitely felt the joy of the other women when they were baptized by proxy tonight. Not sure I felt anything from their brothers.
I came home, had a small snack and noodled around Facebook. And now I am going to take my meds and try to sleep. My hands want to create. My brain wants to find people. My eyes are hollering "uncle". The eyes have it.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!