Dragging feet

I can’t quite decide if I am lazy, overwhelmed or depressed. Or maybe a delicious concoction of all three, with a healthy dollop of exhaustion mixed in. I’m in this constant state of dragging myself along, making myself do things that do not appeal to me. For instance, I love to walk, but lately, I force myself onto the trail, tricking myself into wearing the shoes by promising myself that I do not actually have to walk. And then I have on the shoes and I drive to the trail and I really can’t do anything but walk.

I know that laundry is piled high in the laundry room again, yet I am procrastinating. I don’t want to do it. My head’s ached today with a pesky headache, so maybe that’s why I cannot imagine rounding up enough energy to download photos from the weekend so I can illustrate my blogs. What I want to do is find Zach’s Halloween bucket and eat all the Snickers out of it. Alas, I cannot do that because he carefully cataloged all his candy on a piece of college-ruled notebook paper. (His stash was 109 pieces of candy, just so you know.)

Halloween trick-or-treating on Friday night ended up being a stress-free and delightful as one can imagine. The rain stopped, a gentle fog rolled in, the temperature was mild. We joined our neighbors, so while the children sprinted from house to house, my friend and I chatted. The neighborhood was full of wandering groups of adults and children, unlike many of our previous Halloweens. It was fun.

Saturday found us at Zach’s last football game of the season. (They lost.) We followed that up with a visit to our town’s museum and the much-loved Wagon Shop where the kids climbed into old buggies and used grindstones to sharpen tools. I purchased each of them an instantly-regrettable kazoo. OH THE NOISE.

Last night, my husband took me out on a date to celebrate our 7,777th day of marriage. He also presented me with seven roses, seven chocolates, seven love songs on CD and a gift-card for seven movies. I know! How did I get so lucky to be married to such a guy? I don’t know, but I am grateful every day for having him for my husband.

Today, we went to church at Mars Hill. I was disappointed that Mark Driscoll wasn’t there today–the other pastors who speak are just not as compelling as Mark. (I am sure they are fine human beings and have excellent people skills . . . but I am not an auditory learner and only the very best communicators capture my attention. Alas.) After church, our traditional lunch at Dick’s Drive-In.

And then an hour long drive home through blinding rain. While my husband was dealing with the stress of the driving conditions, I was reading. I’m almost finished with Sue Monk Kidd’s When the Heart Waits. (She authored The Secret Life of Bees.) She is an exceptional writer. (A few days earlier, I read Amy Grant’s