Love: It's a challenging thing

Alternately titled "Life as a duck."

I'm mad at my spouse right now. He probably had the right to be mad at me, frustrated with me. And admittedly I have some sort of guilt at disappointing him, guilt because he was kind of right. It was his timing and words that hurt my feelings. And I'm holding a grudge. Though I know I shouldn't. But I am. In my grudge-holding, though, never never never never do I think he stops loving me nor do I stop loving him. I love him by choice, but also, I don't choose to love him; God just put it in me to do so. I can't help it. I do. Through the worst things imaginable, I would, do, still love him. Not that it's not challenging to want to strangle the bugeezus out of him sometimes, but it's still unwavering.

Though my children have not challenged me too much, it is also that way with them. They are an extension of me. They came from my flesh which binds them to me in a way only your own children can. He made me to love them. While it may challenge me to "like" them or want to be around them for an hour or two (you know, when they try your very last nerve, ruin your favorite treasure from a time full of memories unrelivable, break your favorite most valuable - or not - piece of china, cover the living room in flour, that kind of thing), of coarse I love them.

It's not always that way with others. You know - friends, family, that annoying/ever-needy lady at church. With others I occasionally, and especially recently, find myself very very challenged. When I know I should love. When they are lovable people having unlovable days.

These are the times when I struggle to be a mature adult. To apply the knowledge that I should forgive any transgressions against me, I should rise above whatever unlovableness there is and just love with grace. Grace that God gives to me. Love that Christ has for us all.

But I just.... can't. Not "can't." Maybe, "can't right now", or "don't feel like it right now." "Don't know how right now." Do you know what I mean?

I am being challenged. To learn. To grow. To love.

I want to love her. But she keeps making me mad, even in her absence. It's astounding. A continual smack in the face.

I am angry. Overwhelmed. Offended. Hurt. Tired. Taken advantage of. Unappreciated. Lied to. (That one probably gets me the most.)

I can't see her heart, hear how her mind works. All I see is gluttony, self-centeredness, selfishness.

Up pops my own immature desire to tell her off. Make her pay. Punish.

After this summer of conflict, and contemplation of what makes an adult vs. child, I "have decided" (in all my supreme wisdom, haha) that “you” have become an (mature) adult when you have those feelings and yet know it's better not to voice them, or to act on them. You suck it up. Bite your tongue. Let it go. You discover which battles to fight, and which ones you don't take the bait on. You have the foresight enough to realize it's not about you, it's "just a phase", to remain calm.

I'm still working on that.

Right now, I'm still in the phase of wanting to tell a certain person off, my version of the story, which is the real version of the story (you see how mature that is), because I'm mad and hurt and shouldn't she know just what I have to say on the matter. Because *I* have something to say.

Mostly, I need to remember that just because it walks like a duck and talks like a duck, looks like a duck and eats like a duck, does not an adult a duck it make. I, however, am a duck. And so I need to fluff my feathers, stick my head in the water, and swim to my side of the pond where the waters are calm. And stay there, quietly, til my quacker can quack like the duck it is. With love and grace and forgiving words. Words that build and encourage. That speak truth in love, not as a hammer used to hit someone over the head.

Ephesians 5:21 says, Fathers, do not embitter your children, or they will become discouraged.

I need to not be embittered myself.

Love is patient,
Love is kind.
It does not envy,
It does not boast,
It is not proud.
It is not rude,
It is not self-seeking,
It is not easily angered,
It keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil
   but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects,
Always trusts,
Always hopes,
Always perseveres.
Love never fails.
   1 Corinthians 13: 4-8

A challenge.

Fear? No, couldn't be.

I am not, for the most part, a fearful or worrisome person. It is not something I would use to describe my character. My mother? Yes. Me, not so much. But I have this pain memory that, when situations repeat themselves, or seem to, then I fear. The it'll-never-happen-to-me-oops-now-it-did-so-now-it-can-happen-again fear.

Last summer, I miscarried. Sad, yes. I don't think it ruined my life, or dramatically/traumatically affected me. Life happens, and miscarriage is sometimes a part of life. I recovered, not overly mournful, (overly hormonal definitely) but life went on. And I was not "greatly" affected. At least, I didn't think so.

But then, I got pregnant again.

Last time, in what would have been my fifth child, I was elated. I thought it was hilarious. I was amused by what was clearly God's desire for us to have more children. I mean, really, how can one not think that, when that birth control's odds against pregnancy are 99.8%? It was a blessing, a gift, a "word from the Lord," if you will. A pretty clear one, in my thinking, and seemingly in the thinking of everyone else.

When I got pregnant again (and though it was not "planned" per se, it was not really ever a question of "if", for me, I pretty much knew I wanted to have another baby, thought I was "directed" to have another baby) I was not only fearful of a repeat occurance of miscarriage, I was fearful of what others would say. You know the whole, wow 5 (or six rather, since my husband has a daughter who is essentially mine too) is a big family, and worries by family of how I was going to manage sanity-wise, financially, stress-wise, etc. Why the sudden change of perspective from me or anyone else? If last time it was a clear blessing, why would this time be considered "losing my noodles" or "irresponsible"? Why would it be any different, in that respect?

I got my first ultrasound (in office) that showed a good heartbeat, at 8 weeks. Phew. Bececause last time I heard no heartbeat, ever. So we told our family. Some of whom responded less than enthusiastically. Because they worry about me, they say. But I was putting on a smiley face, so why your gloom? I'll manage. At 12 weeks, another ultrasound showed again a strong heartbeat. We were now passed the time when most miscarriages occur. But I indirectly, or subconciously, or something decided not to make any sort of public announcement. It wasn't a secret. Just not telling the world. At my 16 week appointment, I again heard a good heartbeat. 160 bpm. That same week, my "other" daughter also came for her summer visit, and we finally told her the news (rather than share it on Blogger or something). So now I was "free" to tell the world. But still, I was reluctant to share the news. Why? This is not me.

And I realized, I'm fearful. Fearful of criticism, yes, but also fearful of losing a baby. Again.

It's weird to realize something like that. Something that is a bit out of your own character. (like when I realized how selfish I am. WHAT!! Who, me?

Even more strange is to realize it's not just a fear of unexplained miscarriage, but the fear that the one ibuprofen you took, or the nights spent sleeping on a heating pad to get some relief so that sleep will come, fear that I might be in a carcrash - all those things could hurt, deform or kill this life growing inside me. And what that could do to me.

Fear - You are so unrecognizable to me. And so weird. I don't like you. Go away.

Spring

When the problems before you seem to loom larger than the Power behind you, the purpose in living falls right out from underneath of you.

       - Ann Voskamp @  a holy experience

Well, I couldn't have said it better myself.

I am seeing the sun rise, the crack in my shell grow larger, the trees bud, the grass green. I am rising out of the muck. Slowly. Surely. I'm not sure how, just that I am.

So was (and sometimes is) that my problem, that I lose focus on the Power behind me, and instead on the problems before me? They (still) sometimes seemed so large, so looming, so overwhelming. And I, incapable, unmotivated.

I will never have it all right, all done, tasks completed, messes cleaned, bills all paid, laundry all put away, parenting figured out. Because we keep on living. And messing. And learning. And changing.

My purpose for living never disappeared (though my thoughts on purpose for cleaning may have, lol), I always got out of bed, fed the kids/fed/dressed/vacuumed, but it was the love, the desire, the joy that was missing. Each new day brings new hope. These days, I seem to have more Spring in my step, more umph in my get up. Has winter ended? I hope so. At least for now. I need the break.

3am

Sometimes I just don't have time to write all my reflective thoughts down.

(Pardon me while I step out to laugh... all my reflective thoughts... haha... snort)

Ok. All kidding aside.

Naturally, for Christians, those who profess Jesus Christ as their Savior, the one who died for their forgiveness of sins, their salvation, this is a good time for reflection. I didn't take the last 40 days like many do to spend thinking, fasting, praying about His sacrifice. I didn't give up cookies, or caffeine, or tv. While I probably need to give up sweets and the like, I don't necessarily feel like I cheated myself, or God, of my time or devotion. Not that it wouldn't be fruitful for me to do that "sacrifice", but I do it in some way, all year long.

A song in church, a scripture, witnessing undeserved forgiveness from one person to another, the gente touch on the shoulder of a hurting soul, the dawn of a new day, the sweet love of my children lavished on a selfish, crabby mother; all these things make me think about Him. And weep. And today, right now, I weep. Not because of sadness, but from being overwhelmed with His Love, what He did for me, and how I'm not worthy, but He did it anyway. The mercy, grace, forgiveness, love, redemption all bestowed upon me. How can one truly grasp all that? How can you not grasp at it?

Songs like this... cause me to weep  e v e r y  time. They crack open my crappy, broken, hardheaded heart, as they reveal to me something awesome.

I don't claim to be perfect. I don't claim to know it all. I don't think I'm better than someone else for any reason I can think of. Saying you're a Christian is sometimes like pulling out a loaded gun - people get freaked and run away, because they have experienced the bullets of some other "christian". For that I'm sorry. I have plenty of "intellectual" friends, friends who scoff at my beliefs (probably behind my back), friends who don't "get it", friends who don't want to or could care less. (And I stand less boldly than I should for fear of their bullets.)

To those people, I just want to say, He's so much more than what you know. You may think it's a bunch of crap, and what you've experienced probaby is. But HE is not that. He lifts my face when I cannot. He forgives me when I am less than kind to someone who probably "deserved" it. He loves that person (me) who doesn't deserve it. And though I haven't experienced this much yet, He wants to be my friend, your friend, the one you share thoughts and dreams and struggles and joys with. He wants to hold my hand when I sit scared in the dentist chair, when I talk to my kids about _____, when I argue with my husband. He's not pushy, he nudges. He whispers, and maybe he shouts, but I only have heard or seen the "quiet shouts." To be cliche, He really is the potter, and I the clay, in that he takes is hands and smoothes out the pot, filling cracks and shoring up uneven spots, so gently you can't help but bend to his touch.

I read a book all day today. Total waste of time so now I'm up at nearly 3 am waiting for laundry. But I read this...

"Whenever I read a story... where the author has bravely chosen to create characters who are products of their culture and flawed by their natures, I think of the people Jesus chose to associate with... He sought out the broken people. Why, he accepted a tearful tribute from a prostiture and invited himself into the home of a tax collector, a profligate who stole from his own people and flaunted his weath. Jesus even ate in the company of lepers... and the woman at the well, a Samaritan, a term used by the Jews as a curse word... I've often wondered what that woman was like. After all, Jesus chose to walk through hostile territory to meet with her, and she'd rid herself of five husbands... But Jesus met her there (at the well, in the heat of the day), weary from meeting the needs of hungry and hurting people, and he must have been terribly thirsty... What I find so compelling about the story of the Samaritan woman is the grace Jesus extends to her when she speaks the truth. She admits her failings to him, a rabbi who had no business talking to any woman in public, let alone a hussy who lived with a man who was not her husband. He could have ordered her stoned for her sins, but Jesus didn't even gasp. He didn't give her a book to read or ask her to explain her past. No, he opened a door considered closed to the Samaritans - forgiveness - and she ran through it without a second thought. No other story in the Bible speaks more eloquently of Jesus' humility and grace." --The Queen of Sleepy Eye, Patti Hill.

Yeah. I was a hussy who did things you might gasp at, someone who stole things that weren't mine, who chased after selfish ambitions. In fact, I think I still do those things sometimes (well, maybe more figuratively as I don't steal on purpose, and I'm a faithfully married woman now, lol). I'm a work in progress, who loves an awesome God, and that's all he really wants of me.

I am my beloved's and he is mine.

If you are a friend who has felt the sting of Christians but want to know about Christ and what all the fuss is, please talk to me. I'm not out to "convert" you, I just want you to know about something that makes my life a little more manageable, gives me hope, takes the sting out, and makes me feel worthy when I'm not. Because I'd love for you to find life a little more manageable, have more hope, take the sting out of your ___, and make you feel loved and worthy.

Because you're worth it.

More than just coincidence

I have been encouraged.

See? Not all doom and gloom here. :D

I have recently been amazed, awed, encouraged at how God is moving. And boy is he. It's amazing what happens when you invite the spirit in. Ha!

It's almost like deja vu, lately. Except it's not.

In January, my group of "ladies", aka Women's Group, jokingly aka "Spirit Sisters", spent an evening just talking and praying and listening to where God wanted us to go, what we wanted out of the group, etc. The similarities were clearly there, common threads from one persons heart to the other. Fellowship, encouragement, sisterhood / family / relationship, and the desire to invite the Holy Spirit in to dwell and guide.

We had been missing direction for a little while, and we felt like we were getting on the right path. Ha! hahahaha. God is so funny.

For the past month, scriptures that are coming up in our study or in our lives are being repeated in the sermons at church, and vice versa. So I have sat in church, looked around for "my girls" and thought, "are you hearing this? This is crazy nuts awesome." I love it when God does that. It's so clear that he's working. It's so encouraging. It is lifting us all up. And tonight, we all started out our prayer time sharing a praise. Not because we said "share a praise," but because we had praises to sing.

I have also seen/heard of "topics" brought up in other's lives, in the church annual meeting, in prayer time, in random email forwards. Unconnected incidences.

The "coincidence" is uncanny.

But really, I know it's not coincidence at all.

He reigns!

It's not just a thing to do

I have been seeing lots of Facebook/blog posts about Lent, what people are giving up. Some surprise me - in the who or the what. Some seem a little trite - overused, too common, not unique or given much thought, the stock answer. Not being "denominational" or rigid in tradition, I tend to not put much focus on this element of Christianity. My faith is not cookie cutter. I'm not cookie cutter. Neither is my God, and I feel this is an act that should have purpose, spiritually. His sacrifice and suffering is not trite.

But I know there are things in my life that need to be purged, cleansed, sacrificed. I need to eliminate the noise to be able to hear the whisperings of the Father to me in the garden. I also need to find, to go to, the garden. And I don't. So I'm out of balance.

I have been thinking, listening a little, about what He would have me do in this time. Or, any time. But no time like the present. To find balance, to find Him.

I am thirsty, but rather than go to the well, I sit here dying of thirst.

I read a blog that makes me weep. Makes my heart hurt. Every. time. I. read. it. (But it's like a drug with good music, so I keep going back.)

Today she said this:

Lent. It’s the preparing the heart for Easter. Like going with Jesus into the wilderness for forty days, that we might come face to ugly face with our enemy.

I meet my enemies daily, hourly. I struggle to maintain control. And I have let my enemy win, take control. blah! So I am considering.

But I am addicted to my noise.

You should really read this whole post though. It's a little hard core, and, well, just read it.

How a Lent that Fails Actually Succeeds

Compassion

I have had experiences in the past, for as long as I can remember, of feeling empathy, or compassion, for people who are "suffering." When someone is being prayed for, and I feel as though I am crying on their behalf, to bear some of their pain, burden, sadness. In those doubting times, I think, no, I'm just some freak who cries at everything. But not really.

As an adult, the feeling of being called to prayer has emerged. I have had the experience of going to an evening of praise and prayer, and knew I was going to pray for a particular person. I have felt "called" to pray for someone's marriage, someone I hardly knew. And I prayed weeks, 24/7. I know when someone has come to mind that I should pray for them. And have found out later about important conversations that were taking place at. that. time.

Lately, my prayer experiences have been odd.

A friend has come to me over and over and over again, asking for prayer. Yet when I pray for her, I feel as though I am praying for myself. Scriptures that cross my path are both for me and for her. And while I get irritated with her for not applying this to her life, I know that I am also not applying those same things to my life. So is that how God feels with me? Irritated? Angry at my excuses?

Since the first of the year, I have started participating on the Prayer Ministry team. (Much more suited to me than Children's Ministries, for sure.) I have sometimes felt conflicted with, how can I pray for /  help someone else when I feel a significant lack in my life. Or the, this is a bad day and I don't feel like praying for someone, I feel like being the recipient. But God always delivers, and though I don't know the end result of what the prayer did for someone else, I know what it did in me.

A few Sundays ago, someone came forward who I have a connection to thru another church. She asked for prayer for a certain call she felt, and I was overcome with emotion, compassion, feeling her pain. Here I am, in a prayer team with another guy, bawling like a baby. I could hardly get any words out. Tears just running down my face. I felt like a complete weirdo, more emotional than even she. 

The sermon series in church right now has been on the book of Luke. Good stuff, and I have taken a few nuggets out of it for sure. This past week I knew ahead of time it would be on healing. That morning as I was getting ready to go to church, I knew it was going to be an emotional day. Not for my stuff. An empathetic emotion. I took lots of deep breaths. Then at church, once I walked into the "sanctuary", I knew it was going to be emotional, and kept thinking, I really need to go get some kleenex. I was fine, but I knew it was coming. The pastor used the scripture passage Luke 7:11-17 as the basis for his sermon. As he preached the sermon, this scripture answered my question, the question of why I cry for others.

12 A funeral procession was coming out as he approached the village gate. The boy who had died was the only son of a widow, and many mourners from the village were with her.

13 When the Lord saw her, his heart overflowed with compassion. "Don't cry!" he said. (NLT)

I sat there silently, tears streaming. I decided that was a good time to go find kleenex, and as I entered the hall, and found two friends, it started. The weeping. And so I explained. And they confirmed, that's God. The gift of Compassion.

So at least I'm not a freak. (LOL)

In his sermon, Brian made a few points that resonated with me:

• 
  
  God can release compassion in you that leads toward healing for others.
• 
  
  Your compassion is not inconsequential; it is important. 
• 
  
  Compassion is meant to drive us towards prayer - asking for and welcoming the Kingdom of God into real life situations. Use that compassion to lead you to pray.

Well ok then. Actually, what that did for me, was allow me to open up to that compassion, instead of try and control or squash it. But boy am I glad that the Spirit can pray for us, because I was having a hard time with getting words or prayer to come out of my mouth, only my heart.

Yay for God working thru us. It's humbling to know he would use me, that he would find me worthy enough to work thru me for the benefit of someone else.

But I still ask, where's God for me? I want to be healed, to find joy, to laugh, to see blessings.

Is anyone praying for me, feeling compassion for my heartache?

I guess God is, probably.

Dear God,

I have been needing to write you a letter for a long time, but I've lost momentum, lost the desire, gotten interrupted and just plain haven't done it. But I need to. And today is the day.

See, the thing is, and let me be blunt here, I'm tired. Of. it. all. I'm tired of being fat. I'm tired of being sad. I'm tired of complaining, of seeing the glass half empty, of seeing my lack. I'm tired of being angry and not really knowing why. I'm tired of being tired, and lacking the desire and motivation to get off my ass, and do something about my life.

I'm tired, HEAR THIS, I'm TIRED of not having any joy, of not being able to count my blessings.

Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be in a prayer meeting and NOT be able to think of something you have been thankful for in the last YEAR! I'm sure I sound like an extremely ungrateful miserable person. But you know what? I AM. And I H.A.T.E. IT. i hate it i hate it i hate it i hate it. I hate feeling miserable 90+% of the time. I am not this person, and I don't want to be this person. So please, would you tell me how to get out of this?

I am a crappy mom, a crappy wife, a crappy daughter, sister, friend. I yell / spank / scream / throw things / say things I shouldn't way. too. often. I complain / am moody /am unadmitingly ungrateful for the fact that I have 4 beautiful, perfectly healthy children who are amazing souls that have been gifted to me. And I'm too busy being crappy to notice. I don't truly appreciate my husband for who he is, what he does, what he contributes, what he gives to me and our family, how you move in his life. Mostly I see that he's not around enough, not involved enough, that he's a spoiled, demanding brat (which he is) that doesn't seem to have any emotions, care about mine or anyone else's, and just lives to satisfy his own selfish nature. Who doesn't go to church with me and shows little sign of ever doing so. Or of having any interest in having our own spritual discussions together. And i see that all from my own selfish point of view. And let's not forget,  just last week, when a friend said she was having a hard time, my response was, "hm, that's too bad." And I only felt obligated to ask what was wrong, not because I cared or wanted to know. Because I was having my own bad day.

Just when exactly did I become selfish and why? Isn't marriage and motherhood supposed to hone you into a finer being, not make you worse?

And let's just talk about that anger. I've mentioned this to you before. But you seem to be ignoring me, and let me tell you, that PISSES ME THE F OFF. Now it's easy to blame it all on that stupid roommate I had, as the wonderful parting gift she left me, but I'm sure it came long before that. Kind of like a sleeping giant. Because it is giant. I'm angy at how you have a history of not answering my prayers. Of not speaking to me when I ask. Of not giving me the wisdom and answers on how to be a better mother, on meeting my children's needs, on being a better wife to my challenging husband that I do truly love. I need you, and I want you. And yes, I hear from you. But it would be nice, for once, to hear from you about little old selfish fat sad angry me, instead of everyone else. Talk to me. I can take it. Tell me all the crap I need to change. Show me all my flaws. Rip my heart out. Just don't stomp on it. And certainly, don't just say nothing.

So many questions and hurts that seem to lay buried, but the cemetery might be flooding and all those dead are popping to the surface.

The most recent being the whole deal with the miscarriage. Now I get that's life, and those things happen. And though I'm sad about that loss of life, why did you have to let my joy be robbed in the process. Aren't you supposed to protect me? I was defenseless then, and now it's gone. As the tears endlessly run down my face, believe me when I say, I want it back.

I'm a ruined mess.

Most days this monster, this giant, stays in check, not rendering me helpless or hopeless. Not making an ugly appearance for all the world to see. It's mostly hidden. But there's sure a lot of clouds. I could use a sunny day. A sunny week. A sunny freaking year. A new and improved me. And I think my children would greatly benefit from having a different mom. They really are the innocent victims here. And I really hate seeing my own bad behaviors and habits replicated in my children. It's the worst. mirror.  e v e r. And one that brings more guilt, and condemnation, and more feelings of being overwhelmed with life. ugh.

See, now even I'm getting bored with my complaining.

But from the bottom of my heart.

pretty please.

with all the sugar in the world.

Can i please have some joy? Can I pleeeaaase come out of this deep dark pit?

I need your help. I can't do this alone. I just can't do all this all by myself. Most of the time, I feel like I can't do it at all.

Blah.

And for anyone else reading this, I'm not sure if I should be posting it. So if you have any thoughts on the subject, please feel free to email me. Thanks.

snarl

I will warn you. You should just probably stop reading now. Really. The following is just a bunch of crabby babble. Melancholic musings of a mad mommy. Mad as in loco and angry. I may not even publish it. It's really that bad.

I have this really annoying character flaw. It's annoying to me because I have a hard time changing it, so it makes me stuck in it. And because it's a flaw, it is not a good thing. See, when I have a mood, it permeates everything, and I share it.. I can't put on a happy face for anyone. (I doubt my children will ever accuse me of being two-faced.) You know how mom's can go from screaming at you one minute, then the phone rings, and wham-o, "hi, how are you" sweet-like-honey comes out. Nope. Not me. Can't do it. Much to the dismay of Holly at some bill collectors office, I'm sure. Poor gal called at the. wrong. time. She kept asking me why I was mad at her. Stupid girl wouldn't end the conversation.

I am who I am, no facades, no masks, just me in all my shitty glory. (sorry for that but I am shitty. and I swear occasionally). So I share my glorious mood with whomever happens to cross my path. I should stick a warning sign on my forhead. "Run. Fast."

I also have a hard time getting out of that mood. It takes  m u c h  concious effort on my part. And lately (ok, since, like, August), I just don't have the energy for the effort. I try sometimes, and it all goes awry. Nothing works out. It all ends in disaster. And then it's worse. So I live a life of crappy attitudes, negative outlooks, and critical existence. I'm always tired, always stressed, always mad about something. Life is always too much for me to deal with. I'm always overwhelmed. I always see the obstacles, and can't find the rainbow to any rainstorm.

Don't you wish you were me?

And who would want to talk to someone like that, hang out or even make small chit chat. Who wants to read a blog by Negative Nelly? I doubt anyone really wants to waste their time bring themselves down by my negative commentary on life in the mommy lane.

The problem is, I'm getting sick of this, but don't know how to change it. I don't know how to find my happy, to laugh, to smile.

Not every day is a bad day, but no day is a really good day.

I want escape from my life. From my house, my responsibilities, my children.  I want to run away, to a far away place, where I can't hear cries, and demands, and arguing, and whining. Where people don't complain about what you didn't do, but in fact are grateful and appreciative for all that you do (and sorry, I don't care if those people are 3 or 33). I want to walk across a room and not be disgusted. I want to accomplish tasks and not have them undone a minute later. I want to stop screaming and being angry and discontent. I want to find the joy in my children. See my blessings for what they are.

Instead, I just sit here, listening to my son scream his bloody head off for an hour. Or so. I just want him to shut up.

This sticking my head in the sand thing is not working.

Have a nice day. Aren't you glad you read this drivel? I promise, some day I'll have something nice and pleasant or at least pensive and thought provoking to say. For now, it's just a pity party on my block.