I do my laundry the right way.
By color, by shade: darks & blacks; grays; blues & greens; whites & tans; reds & oranges…every article in its appropriate place.
My dish towels don’t always receive the same treatment.
They are kept in a laundry basket by the washer, an easy place to toss them once they have been dirtied by kitchen use.
Despite how hard I’m trying, my life feels like the dish towels lately. There is no separating, no compartmentalizing. Those pieces that don’t usually touch, those colors that don’t go together, are today thrown into a massive, stinky pile.
That’s how I feel right now. A little stinky.
Political, religious, maternal, social, nonsocial, academic, domestic, familial, international…
All of these realms run together and seem to crash into each other head-on at every corner.
Maybe it’s that a particular dream fell apart and all that surrounds it suddenly comes into focus.
Maybe it was the sickness I endured and am still trying to sleep off.
Maybe it’s the less-and-less hours of rest I’m getting at night.
Maybe it’s my proclivity toward bad attitudes and pity parties.
In times like this, I seem to ask God the same questions over and over, and, like a stubborn child, forget the answers and ask again.
It seems like we’re all in a sort of dark tunnel lately, despite the sunshine and bloom.
I’m in need of some rejoicing.
Honestly, I’m in need of some re-evaluating, re-compartmentalizing, because when all these things run together I become overwhelmed and static.
So, a dream falls apart. We ask, “What now?”, we listen, we WRITE DOWN the answer and we remember. Then we keep asking, keep listening, keep writing down.
So, my body must physically recover. I utilize the power button on the remote and take in the peace that accompanies a black TV screen. I smile at Jon Eliot and watch him giggle, and we go on a walk with the dogs.
So, I must learn to deal with 10:00, 12:00, 2:30, 3:30, 4:45, 6:00 feedings every night. I watch Eliot’s little hand grab for me and I remember how absolutely precious he is. I hold back my tears of frustration and try to selflessly succumb to love once more.
Bad attitudes and pity parties just make the laundry dirtier.
So I’m going to open some windows, let in the breeze, and get those stinky towels into the washer.