Warning – discombobulated post

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There is nothing more important at this moment than sleep.

After not sleeping almost at all last night due to a late dosage of Allegra-D and a four-overtime win for the Dallas Stars, I can honestly think of nothing else but sleep.

I can barely type.

(I was able to stay awake through Dancing with the Stars – Go Christian! Way to dance through the pain!)*

Why bother to write a post at all, then? Why not only allow myself to just close my eyes and drop into unconsciousness and in the process not inflict my apparent lack of faculties onto you, my oh-so-new-readers?

Simple – two reasons: I made a promise to myself to attempt to write something every night in the hopes of building momentum and creating confidence in my commitment. And I have power in my voice which is, in this case, expressed digitally.

My power does not stop because no one reads it. My power is not weakened if it is barely, remotely related to a Pulitzer’s seventh cousin, eight times removed from my friend’s half-sister’s step uncle’s parakeet.

I have strength in power even when the only beneficiary is me.

I have power still even if it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

The sense is in the effort to remain a voice of power in any form available.

*Please note: this post contains a confession of a secret obsessive vice – DWTS. For future reference, all judgements against the author are respectfully requested to be given a bit of slack. It has been clinically proven that often we do not chose and cannot control that which we obsess over. Plus, I don’t have many vices left!

Trying something new to find something old

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Have you ever lost something and conducted an obsessive, exhaustive search only to come up frustrated and empty handed? Then, a few days or weeks or more goes by and you begin to accept that no amount of searching you do is going to find that precious something that was lost.

It is just lost.

So, you give up and let it go.

You know what’s coming, right?

The very next moment after having sincerely surrendered the search, that beautiful something manages to miraculously appear in the very place you could have sworn you checked a hundred, million times.

It hasn’t moved.

It hasn’t changed.

It’s exactly as it always was and it is right where you left it.

It’s like it was never lost at all, only hidden from your sight for a while.

I lose things all the time. Right now I am currently missing one of my favorite necklaces, the key to the second lock on my front door, the cable that connects my camera to my computer, and whatever shoes it is I decide I want to wear out that day. I continually lose things inside my purse and end up having to dump out the entire bag’s worth of stuff to locate my glasses or phone.

I lost my car once in a parking lot and was minutes away from calling the police to report it stolen before I remembered that I hadn’t parked in that lot at all – it was in the lot next to it. (Besides, I was driving a ’79 brown Pontiac LeMans at the time – who’d want to steal that?)

And yet, each time I lose something, I go through the same ingrained routine of obsessive search that upends my entire life spreading chaos along my whirlwind hunt only to be left standing alone perplexed, baffled and defeated as to where “it” could possibly be.

Well, I’ve finally decided my life is too full to waste time and energy terrorizing myself on a quest that always ends in disappointment.

So, I’ve decided to try something new. I’ve decided to trust that I will find it when I find it.

More importantly, I’ve decided to believe it is not lost at all. It is right where I left it.

Of course, you know the answer to the riddle about the three frogs sitting on a log and two decided to jump off and one decided to stay, so how many frogs are on still the log?

Which raises another question – am I jumping? Or am I staying?

where does it go?

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My nemesis, Time, and I are at it again.

I sit here wondering where the day went – I woke up and had the whole day ahead of me and now, at its close, I wonder where it all went so fast.

Then I glance at a photo on my desk of my son when he was three pouring a pretend cup of tea for his little sister who would have been eighteen months old and my question for Time stretches out even longer.

Where are that chubby faced little gentleman and his toddling sister?

All of the sudden, he has become old enough to be continually requesting his own cell phone or to play on the computer and she wants to get her nails done and have a cup of real tea. Both of them have lost that awe for my voice and tend to ignore me when I ask them to do something.

Once the question to Time begins its fateful stretch backward, I begin to wonder where the woman is who could stay up all night and learn a new part for a play has wandered off to. Or the one with aspirations of the Steppenwolf stage and starting her own theater company. The girl who used to soak everything in and be positive and smiley has hidden herself away only to come out when all is well.

I need her more when all is not.