Coming Out of the Dark

When this blog theme was thrown down last week, my exact response, after googling to ascertain the exact vintage, was …

Coming Out of the Dark is a Gloria Estefan song from 1991.

At least it's not Celine Dion!

Okay so it was the first song released after she almost died in a tour bus accident, which was horrible, but you still can’t make me like the song.

I went and listened to it on YouTube. Ugh.

You can’t make me like it.

And in 1991, let’s see … I was doing research on artificial intelligence and hanging with a cute baby boy who, once he achieved crawling status, liked to drag my organic chemistry book off the shelf and pretend to read it.

Was I ever really in the dark? I’m sure in some ways yes. Who isn’t. I’m always learning and always acquiring new perspectives. But coming out of the dark seems a mite melodramatic, even for a girl who’s a fan of bling and pedicures and stages and good stories.

As I write this week’s post I am what is referred to as dangerously tired. I believe that is a technical medical term. My knees hurt. They haven’t done that in a long time. Lots of things hurt.

Hdrgslkthae;lkteah;lk

 … is about as much coherent language and thought as I can muster. Again a technical term.

Interestingly, a weekish ago that cute baby boy was driving and, kind of on autopilot, took a right when he should have gone straight. I did the exact same thing last night! Bahahaha! I need sleep and a vacation.

There were two or three songs that struck me this week while I had shuffle or iHeartRadio on. I remember thinking, “Oh I should remember this one and maybe write about it in the weekly blog post.” Songs much more enjoyable than the aforementioned pop hit that makes me want to stick my fingers in my ears and say “la-la-la-la-la-I-can’t-hear-you”. I’m too tired to remember them all, but The Afters’ “Broken Hallelujah” was one of them. I was either cleaning windows or Old Englishing at the time. If I never again hold a bottle of Old English in my hands, it will be really very much okay. Between myself and a couple of awesome friends nearly every square inch of wood in my house has been oiled up and polished up.

I had early soundcheck Sunday. Which normally requires caffeine anyway and sometimes invoking of airline rules, i.e. on time is anything within fifteen minutes. I’m usually pumped and awake enough by the actual service to be just fine, but this time I really just wanted to fall asleep at the piano. During the service. While playing. Oh we sounded fine. But I wanted to fall asleep on the piano.

I contemplated running these stairs to stay awake, but I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t be heard in the sanctuary. You know, during a prayer or something. Tripping was also a distinct possibility.

The next evening I was feeling rather Cinderella, and I don’t mean in the glass slipper belle of the ball sense. I mean I was on the floor mopping. Well spot cleaning after using a mop. And then scrubbing the bejesus out of the marble inlay by the front door. With my trusty Murphy’s Oil Soap mixed up in a quart size yogurt container. Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day it’s Cinderelly. That baby shines. It sparkles. Sorry, I didn’t take a pic. Trust me and my achy knees that it’s beautiful.

A few days ago (I have no memory offhand of which day) a friend messaged me with the perfect words at the perfect time. You can blame the Holy Spirit for that one. Do you ever have just the right verse or just the right words or just the right little message show up in your life? This friend mentioned a passage from Job (Ha!!! Job versus Cinderelly. Compare and contrast. Go.) and said they sensed a time of respite coming up for me. Me too. Praise Jesus. It’s nice to be reminded.

I have been waging a veritable Sherman’s March against dust and dirt and grime and clutter and unnecessary things. I have been cleaning and organizing for weeks. And I am grateful for the stellar help I have had in those endeavors. For tolerance of my crankiness. For the prayers of those offsite.

I have heard secondhand desks are a dime a dozen, so I elected to call the ones in my house “kindling”. I feel this pile has a very Beverly Hillbillies aesthetic.

Nothing dark here. Also we have both kinds … fire AND brimstone.

And then.

Today.

Officially.

My house is for sale.

Tell your friends. Tell your neighbors (that you’d like to lose, lol). 

For more about Coming Out of the Dark from my friends, see Sue Bowles at bebold7.wordpress.com and Leisa Herren at life4inga.blogspot.com.