ten thirty is too early to have to go to bed
I keep meaning to post, but d'you know, the more I procrastinate, the more daunting the post becomes. Things keep on happening -- little things, mostly, but things I feel obligated to write about for my own posterity if not your entertainment. (And I feel both as though I am harried and have too much pressing on me, and that there isn't anything to occupy me at all. I'm restless. And confused, but confusion is pretty much like breathing oxygen anymore.)
Well, the weekend will be busy; Dad's church has got an Easter party tomorrow morning and I am slated to awake at six thirty, which I am not looking forward to (and should probably start working on any minute now; I seem to require an obscene amount of sleep). I'm hoping it goes well, as we're trying to draw some more people, particularly families, to our church, which is currently very small and in need of growth. There will be food (breakfast), and -- I'm singing. Which I am kind of not very prepared for, so. Okay, they're easy songs, and I've mostly got them down, and they're the sort of folk songs that my voice wraps itself around the most easily, but I am nothing if not perpetually nervous and paranoid anyway.
Sunday is Easter. Where did that come from? All of the holidays have been springing up on me unawares this year, and Easter being unusually early does not help. I missed St. Patrick's Day entirely -- it was a Saturday, and I was out and about, as usual, and I didn't even listen to the radio. Or wear green. Or put on Solas, or the Chieftains, or anything. Actually I feel as though I've been missing a lot; days are going by much too quickly and insubstantially, and yet why do I feel that the moments are dragging on? Even spring -- I've been longing for it, and then suddenly -- oh, well, look, birds. Go back to my breakfast.
Easter is always an awkward holiday for me, as I may or may not have mentioned before, because I never feel like I get it right. I feel like it ought to be sacramental, like it ought to feel important, like I ought to feel more solemn or at least think about something, but I get up and watch the sunrise, eat a doughnut, put on a pretty dress that's entirely inappropriate for the weather, go to church, have a nice lunch, and then sleep off and on most of the rest of the day, and I think -- where's the reverence? Maybe everyone else is getting it and I'm not. I don't know. So I'm confused all over again every year.
And now I really ought to practice "By the Mark" about forty more times and force myself to sleep. World, why do we run on different clocks?
Well, the weekend will be busy; Dad's church has got an Easter party tomorrow morning and I am slated to awake at six thirty, which I am not looking forward to (and should probably start working on any minute now; I seem to require an obscene amount of sleep). I'm hoping it goes well, as we're trying to draw some more people, particularly families, to our church, which is currently very small and in need of growth. There will be food (breakfast), and -- I'm singing. Which I am kind of not very prepared for, so. Okay, they're easy songs, and I've mostly got them down, and they're the sort of folk songs that my voice wraps itself around the most easily, but I am nothing if not perpetually nervous and paranoid anyway.
Sunday is Easter. Where did that come from? All of the holidays have been springing up on me unawares this year, and Easter being unusually early does not help. I missed St. Patrick's Day entirely -- it was a Saturday, and I was out and about, as usual, and I didn't even listen to the radio. Or wear green. Or put on Solas, or the Chieftains, or anything. Actually I feel as though I've been missing a lot; days are going by much too quickly and insubstantially, and yet why do I feel that the moments are dragging on? Even spring -- I've been longing for it, and then suddenly -- oh, well, look, birds. Go back to my breakfast.
Easter is always an awkward holiday for me, as I may or may not have mentioned before, because I never feel like I get it right. I feel like it ought to be sacramental, like it ought to feel important, like I ought to feel more solemn or at least think about something, but I get up and watch the sunrise, eat a doughnut, put on a pretty dress that's entirely inappropriate for the weather, go to church, have a nice lunch, and then sleep off and on most of the rest of the day, and I think -- where's the reverence? Maybe everyone else is getting it and I'm not. I don't know. So I'm confused all over again every year.
And now I really ought to practice "By the Mark" about forty more times and force myself to sleep. World, why do we run on different clocks?