Weary

I am experiencing some bone-weariness right now. Normally, when I take a nap, I'm invigorated afterward, to the point where I cannot sleep that evening. I just woke up from having slept about two hours, catching up on some sleep I missed the last couple of days (which was totally worth it...) And I feel like I could go right back to sleep for the rest of the night, even though it's only 7pm.

Our service at church today was pretty amazing. I love Dr. Bob Laurent. In fact, I'd like to be able to take one of his classes at Bethel sometime. However, church is free and Bethel classes are pretty expensive. He's just such a genuine person (which, in itself, sounds funny -- as if the alternative is that he were an antelope pretending to be a person). To me, he represents the embodiment of a lack of hypocrisy. I want that in my life, whenever I can get it. Today he spoke on love, and how we sometimes make an idol of love in our lives because we are searching for something else, the one true love that only Jesus can give. But he did it in a totally non-trite, realistic, enrapturing way that I can't even describe. (No pun intended in that last line, there.)

The weather today was beautiful. Warm, sunny, blue skies, all against the backdrop of the autumn-painted trees which I so adore. If I had my own world, the trees would be different colors all year round, and it would be just warm enough during the day so you didn't need a jacket, but just cool enough at night that you wanted to have a bonfire and then snuggle. I just totally sounded like a girl, but that's okay because I am.

I've written a couple of short stories lately. I have a better time writing those than anything else. I have all of these ideas, and they come to fruition way too early in my head. It's not that I can't fully develop them into novels, it's that they're not meant to be novels. They're meant to be short stories. I like the short story genre. Maybe it's in my blood. I used to ask my family members to tell me stories when I was little. Sometimes they'd tell the same one, and I wouldn't correct them, I'd just listen again, noticing the differences and (though I didn't know how to define it at the time) noticing the editing process. Sometimes the same story would be shorter or longer, depending on the words used, the sentence structure, the energy level of the storyteller, or how often I'd heard that particular story. I think it's part of why I like to hone what I write so many times. It's also the exact opposite of this blog, because I just write and post on here and don't go over it a hundred times.

My reading has been slowing down (was that even possible?) I'm beginning to doubt myself and my 100-book goal. Did I overshoot? Should I have made it 50 books? Or did I procrastinate too much? Did I not have the right amount of drive? Or has the goal and blog accomplished what I needed it to accomplish without the 100 books? I'm not giving up, mind you, just wondering aloud. Well, on paper. Well, on the information highway.

I made beef stroganoff for lunch and ate quite a bit of that and creamed corn, but I'm hungry again. My power-nap has drained me of my powers. I want meat. Ribs, in particular, or wings from Buffalo Wild Wings. Or both. Steve is still power-napping, and we're broke, otherwise I might be tempted to get in the car and just make that happen.

Every time I think I'm broke, however, I know there are literally billions of people in the world that are worse off than I am, and I am thankful for all of the things I do have.

It's time to rustle up some food. Haha. I said 'rustle'. Who even talks like that anymore?

SJS