Boy if those words couldn't be more true today. Well, the unpredictable part anyway.
The above handwriting comes from someone I can't name. Not because I choose this person to remain anonymous, but because I don't know who wrote the words. (We'll come back to this in a bit).
I was out sick today, and I shuffled through many boxes and papers. I found high school track medals, totes adorb photos like this one, of me and my baby brother:
I found college papers with such original titles as "I Am Woman, Read Like Me" and "Single is Good!"
Sadly I didn't come across the paper I wrote entitled, "Why I should become a nun" (no, really. I wrote that paper), as that would have completed the trio.
In any case, I literally laughed as I was taking pictures of the "Single" essay and posting it to social media, remembering all the opinions I had during college.
I know, I know. (Also: Please, People. We ALL had opinions during college. It's like, required, to be super uber opinionated for those four years. And to suddenly become political.)
Anyway. So the essays. They made me laugh. And my dad made me laugh too, as he is wont to do. So I did laugh today. That's right. But I also cried today. Called my parents so many times I think they half expected it to be me on the phone by the time it rang in their Kansas home -- again -- this evening.
Sigh. I'm just overwhelmed. October-November-December is always overwhelming, unless you're a kid who simply gets to eat candy and miss school and open presents. When you enter adulthood the holidays can still be fun, but you certainly see them differently, that's for sure.
OK but let's get back to those anonymous words pictured above.
When I was in high school, I took a sociology class my senior year. It was an unhappy year for me, probably my least favorite of the four years (though for many students the case is opposite for them). We had an assignment (activity?) at one point during the year, during which we each had to bring in a miniature notebook with our name and picture inside the front cover. Then, for a class period or two, we passed the books around in silence, and in each one, we had to write something to that person that we liked or admired about them.
It was kind of an awesome thing our teacher had us do, actually.
Well someone -- and I couldn't tell you who -- wrote that I was unpredictable and organic.
Such an interesting thing to say.
I also consider it a compliment. The organic part, anyway. The unpredictable piece could be a gentle way of saying, "Ma'am, you might want to get your mood swings checked out."
Which, in fairness, I have (since high school) gotten my moods checked out and have found ways to keep them in check.
But I still have days like today, where I'm a mess in the morning, happy in the midday, super irritable and depressed in late afternoon, and then weepy at dusk.
I hate feeling this way. It's exhausting.
I'm just grateful I have friends and family who are willing to talk and text and pray me through.
I attempted to clean up my life today, being bound at home, and made a bigger mess of it, I'm afraid. My bed wasn't covered in items when I woke up today, but now it is a heap of stuff and I am wondering where I shall stick my body 'neath the covers come bedtime.
I sorted papers, and tossed so much junk. I made progress. But all I see is a mess. And thus, I feel like a mess.
But there is tikka masala in the oven (not homemade, what are you, crazy?). A fizzy water within reach. A boyfriend on texting standby.
And there's one thing in my bed (well, besides me) right now that was also there this morning.
This cutie pants sleeping pie:
He's not afraid of my mess. He's actually made a bed of it.
And, thank the good Lord above, there are plenty of other people in my life who aren't afraid of my mess, either. In fact, hopefully, they think me a little unpredictable (in the best way), but also organic. May I always, in my weepiness, in my grumpiness, in my I'm-sorting-papers-and-feeling-good grooves, be organic.