Pulling the trigger

So.

It's been a week since I had this great idea. I caught up on all my sleep before last Sunday–I did everything I could possibly do so that I wouldn't be wiped out on my one day with my kids. And not only that, but I had this great plan for how I was going to keep my life in balance permanently.

I would get up early, go walking, and on my way out the door, take the old laptop with me (I even had my son delete every program, every file from the thing so that there was enough disk space to run a decent word processor) and stashed it in the van. AND found a flash drive with enough room on it for my files. So when I returned from my walk an hour later, I got into the back of the van (tinted windows,blinds down) and worked furiously for an hour. Got out, came inside, woke the stragglers up and we had some scripture study. God made the world, all that good stuff, and left my kids writing in their journals while I took a shower. Woke Marty up on my way into the bathroom in case someone showed up early. Came down feeling like no matter what else happened that day, I had done the important things, right? I was good.

The plan was to then get everyone calmed down by eight or so, and reading or sleeping being the only options, I could get to sleep early enough to repeat the process the next day. Or even have an adult conversation with my spouse, imagine that.

Only.

Life is what happens while you're making other plans, right? So Cousins come into town, my daughter wants to have them spend the night, fine, I'm a little later than I should be getting in bed, but we're still doing okay, it's only ten, and then . . . well . . .  I'm laying there thinking I should go to sleep, but I'm also thinking the spouse has seemed really quiet, today. I can spare a few minutes to just make sure everythings on an even keel, right?

I should have went to sleep.

Have you ever asked a simple question, and gotten an answer that blew a crater in your consciousness? Like going in for a pedicure and coming out with a double amputation and prosthetics instead?

I'd tell you about it, but I wouldn't know where to begin. Lets just leave it that I didn't get to sleep until three am, and then was wide awake, staring at the ceiling at four thirty in the morning, trying to figure out what in the world WHAT??? You know those conversations? Tell me you've had them. They consist of like a dozen calmly stated sentences, tops. But that's all you need to realize that men and women really share so very little genetic material it's frightening.The worst part of all of it is that my whole walk/van/shower thing in the morning–that's what triggered his funk. Indirectly, but still, it pulled the trigger. So now, I'm laying there, thinking, there goes my balance. Do I just go tomorrow anyway, because he really doesn't care, directly, that I'm doing these things, but it seems really insensitive to just go right out after he's been brutally honest with me, and pull the trigger again–even if now the gun isn't loaded any more, you know?    

So no walk? No clandestine meetings with my laptop in the van? I was like a lovesick teen, thinking about my one, wonderful morning, now lost forever. Mostly I was so speechless with  . . . astonishment  that I think I was in some kind of trance. I literally stood at our bedroom window for two and a half hours staring across the lake in the middle of the night. Then laid there in bed staring at the clock thinking, I can do this for one more minute. Then one more. Speechless. Because if I left the room, then he'd think I was mad at him, and I wasn't, and I didn't want him to think so. I really didn't want him to think I was upset–he wasn't wrong, he hadn't done wrong, he'd just been honest, and his way of thinking just blows me out of the water sometimes. Was I upset? No . . . maybe? No. I was  . . . I don't agree with him, but I want to hear his version of the universe–and if I reject him when he tells me, then he's going to clam up for a really long time again.  

I couldn't do anything.  Nothing. I could only stand there and ask God, over and over, "What? What–where–how–how do I, what do I do with this?" God being God, and faithful has a way of helping us sort these things out, I see that we had to have this conversation, I suppose. We're better for it. I really could have kept up my routine if I'd had the heart to. But I was letting this kid have this cousin over, and that kid do this, and making allowances everywhere until I've parceled out our entire life this week into the power of everyone else in town, and nobody in bed until eleven.

Needless to say, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday now have passed, and I'm really just trying to stay awake. And every night something comes up and I'm up late and every morning it would be suicide to get up before I absolutely have to, so I have done nothing. Less than nothing. And now I'm on here, instead of sleeping. Thus perpetuating the cycle. I have read six novels in three days, just trying to stay awake, and not lose my mind. I read them while I rock babies, while I stir soup, while I eat. I think I've done with that though–it's my usual method of dealing with things. I get good and saturated with prose, and then I can function again. Back to life, soon, I think. 

And trigger or no trigger. I've got a date with my laptop, and the pavement. And the shower.

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