Getting Back to Me

Right now I am completely exhausted, mostly because I got about 6 hours of sleep over two days making a wedding cake about which I was very anxious. I wasn’t happy with the aesthetics of the cake, but considering that I had no idea how to plan for it and that I had a last minute business trip pop up that destroyed my attempt at a schedule, I think I did okay – and it still tasted good and made the bride and groom happy, which is really all that counts anyway. It felt like our weekend was just packed, which meant that I had no time to do the work that I should have finished at the end of last week, which meant about two to four hours of sleep Sunday night as I fell asleep on the couch with my laptop resting on my legs. And now it’s almost midnight on Tuesday, and I’ve got more work to do, but was at a rehearsal for the France mission trip tonight teaching songs in French (well, one so far), and secretly wishing that someone would actually want to hear me sing, because I have so much fun doing it, but knowing that it's not going to happen. Between my volunteer commitments (some of which I've been half-assing again), my job, planning this mission trip, which is a big job in itself, and attempting to keep up with friends and family, I am about ready to scrape myself off the floor and into bed until Thanksgiving. Only I can’t, because I have more work to do and a mission trip to lead. So there's that.

Now, as I have mentioned, I’ve had my epiphany that my current place of employment, which has provided me with great opportunities and experience, is not going to be my forever place. I know that I don’t want the job of people senior to me because I see the sacrifices that it entails and I see how much it encroaches on their personal lives. I already feel as though there’s plenty of encroaching on my life as it is (see above. And numerous past posts about work running me into the ground), and I know I don’t want more of that. And more importantly, while it’s tangentially related to the things I’m passionate about, it’s not really what I’m passionate about. And I need to get back to that for my own sanity and my own peace of mind. So as much as I’m grateful for my years there, I’m starting to feel that itch, that itch that is God’s way of telling me that there’s something else around the corner that I need to be ready for. Because once I have that epiphany, that’s all there is to it – I have to do something about it. It’s like when I was dating – it was okay if I wasn’t sure I could marry the guy in question (you seldom know that right away anyway), but once I knew that I never could because of some deal-breaker or another, I didn’t the point in continuing things. So I didn’t.

So I have some feelers out, and I really feel as though they’re in areas that are so very me, the fundamental part of me that I’ve drifted from a little. The thing about which I’ve been passionate ever since I was little is the environment. Always has been, always will be. I can’t get away from that, nor do I want to. So I feel like if I’m going to be true to who I am, and if I’m going to be happy, I need to get back into doing something that’s more me. Granted, people change as they get older, but since this one thing never has, I think I can consider it a fundamental piece. Kind of like the friends that I’ve known for more than half my life. They are stuck with me (suckers), because if they’ve been around this long, they’re just fundamental to me. There are other things that I could do and feel equally satisfied, like humanitarian aid and other things, but anyone who knows me knows that I’ve always, always been a science geek and had a pathological need to help people. And that’s what really lights my fire.

In other news, I’ve rediscovered just how sharp and hard my nails are. They’re not long, certainly not claw length. But when I was pushing myself up on the couch the other night, the corner of my thumb nail (dang squoval shape) caught on my hip and dragged down it, pulling my pajama bottoms down slightly. And leaving a 6-inch gash in my hip that bled and hurt like a mother. Special K was looking at it with bewilderment, asking how the heck I managed to do that. As I liberally sprayed the area with Bactine and covered it with gauze, I explained that I didn’t have any clue how I did such things, but that it was good that I didn’t believe in karma, because if I did, I was a complete tool in my former life.