The Urge to Purge

When I run, at the end, when I am worn out and want to take yet another walk break, I envision a finish line up ahead. and me striving toward it as the crowd on either side chants in unison for my triumphal entry with uninhibited exhilaration.

Every foot step propels me by their jubilation, until I arrive with arms raised and knees bent just steps over the line at the effort expended…

If that were only the truth.

So far, every race I participate, the end is a collaboration of mishaps.

As the miles decrease, my worries increase.  

My mind chants, “I think I can,” as my body cramps in contradiction.  And I begin to slow down.  And my legs move about as one stuck in the mud.

As I round the corner of the final lap, not at the head of the pack, but more like the middle of the road with other sweat-profused individuals, I begin to develop a large lump in my throat , that quickly transitions into a desperate need to throw up right then and there.

So, with the goal within sight, I come to a complete stop to let the internal contents cool down and the desire to dissipate.

Apparently, adrenaline, combined with the challenge, is the perfect combination to propel my stomach, and not my feet.

I am tired of holding back.

What if I continue and see what comes about?

So what if I puke.  Is that really the end of the world?  I mean, really, if you smelled me at this point, my contents might be a sweet aroma to camouflage the sweat.  (Yes, gross!)

I find I stop short quite often out of a lump of fear.

Fear holds back the impulse to propel forward.

And, impulse is replaced with indecision and doubt and wonder.

I have a lot to say.  But, I stop short because I wonder…

Maybe my words will offend someone.

What if I don’t throw in a bible verse at the end of a post, will people will think I am no longer a christian writer?

I worry if I tell you my true heart condition on a continuous basis, you may wonder if I have went off the deep end, and am in dire need an intervention. Or an exorcism.

Does anyone want to really read these thoughts of mine anyway–maybe I should just keep them to myself.

What in the world?

So, I’ve made a decision.

I will not let fear reign when I feel the urge to purge.

Right now my impulsive “gut instinct” wants to send the letter I composed days ago to the hiring team who dismissed my application for employment–without even an interview.

Since they have not found a qualified candidate, after all these months, maybe I will.  Maybe I will not hold back with niceties, and speak the passionate, raw truth about why I believe I could be a true contender.

Maybe.

 

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Desperately Seeking Single White Sock

I’ve been somewhat anxious.  One day she was here, the next, she seemed to disappear.  She, being my white sock.  Actually, she is no longer white, but more of a well-used dingy color.

You see, I lost her the other day, and I have worried of her whereabouts ever since.

Now, I can probably guess what you are thinking, “what is the big deal?”

Wear another pair.

But, you don’t understand; she is special.  For goodness sake, she is a running sock. And if you understand the price of woven material such as she, you would understand that her fabric costs me $15.00 a pair.

Now, you understand my fret over footwear?  Right?

With each load of laundry, my insides become anxious–wondering– worrying, “will I ever see the likes of you again?”

Now, once I leave the laundry room, this anxiety seems to dissipate with every step further away from the dirty clothes hamper.

But, isn’t that how worry works?

The anxious thought process has me obsessing over things that are entirely trivial and hardly worth the extra measure of energy spent over-thinking the matter.

Worry wears us out.  

But, we still do it, don’t we?

I have a drawer full of them–socks with missing partners.

Maybe it is not a sock though.  Maybe I am anxious over other seemingly unimportant-in-the-grand-scheme-of-life matters of little matter:

Like when I run late for an appointment and traffic crawls at a snail’s pace.

Or, the lasagna isn’t ready and the guests are to arrive any minute. 

Or, bouncing a check.

Or, seeing someone on an airplane using their electronic device when we were clearly told to turn them off.  

Or, drinking expired milk. 

Or, BED BUGS

Or, forgetting someone’s name we should know.

Or, wearing the wrong outfit.  Or, worse, someone has on exactly the same outfit as me.  

Worry.  

It cuts a hole at our peace.  

photo

And all this worry was for nothing.  Today, as I folded the clothes in the dryer, out she popped.

Safe and sound.

I can breathe again.

“Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?  Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?  Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?” (Matthew 6:25-27 NIV)

How Do We Sleep Tight and Don’t Let Bedbugs Bite?

So, this is what happens when you discretely inform hotel staff of the possibility of bedbugs in one of their rooms:

Immediate action by people dressed in special white coats  

Beds deconstructed

Special lights in search of evidence of these small bugs in every crack and crevice

These little creatures intend to reek havoc on innocent humans in the midst of slumber.

How do I know this?  Well, you guessed it–we (Bill) has evidence of some peculiar bites/spots on his body.  (Yes, it is okay to say, “yuck–gross–disgusting, etc…”)

Thankfully, I do not have any suspect marks on me. (At least as of this writing, but I have discovered they may not appear for a couple of days–yet, the thought does have me scratching invisible itches…) Most likely it is because I slept on the couch due to my hubby’s loud breathing.

Still, this possible infestation has me somewhat curious.  Okay, slightly freaked out.  So, here is a little info on these little insects:

They are nocturnal

They hide in dark crevices

They can eat up to five times their weight 

How is it possible for something so small to produce such turmoil?

These buggers are tough!

Seriously, many times I sleep on the couch for reasons outside the obvious obnoxious inhale and exhale.  Sometimes I go there because my mind tends to awaken at night, and reel from endless chatter during these dark hours.

It eats away at my sleep with anxieties of tomorrow.  Worry for family members.  Concern over future events.

Bugging me relentlessly of situations I have no control.  

Intent on sucking the life right out of me.  

It seems fear and anxiety seem to grow in the dark–the time when we have the least amount of control.

It does not need to be this way.

We can sleep tight at night.  

It is simply a matter of trust.  Trust in the One who never slumbers.  Trust He has everything figured out–from the smallest detail of our day, to the monumental moments far off in the future.

Just trust.  

As far as the bedbugs are concerned, we will place our trust in the team that will come this afternoon.  They will disinfect and reassemble the mess.

Tonight, we will sleep tight with hopes the bedbugs do not bite.

How about you?  Are there concerns that cause you to be worried and sleep deprived?