I have a cold.

I am the poster child for Low Pain Tolerance. It is unbelievable how badly I want to bitch right now.

The worst thing about having a cold is the persistent headachy-sinus thing that won’t go away, even with 2000mg of acetaminophen. (I tried.) It makes it very hard to concentrate, which is not necessarily the best thing for me right now.

Yesterday was a mess. I cannot possibly remember a time I was that stressed out. I snapped at my mom, lectured Max, and nearly threw Justin in bed. A signficant part of the stress was that I didn’t realize my stupid chapter test on Mutual Funds was 84 questions long. Lucky me. Ugh. And - oh man, I hate this - I was soooo confident in my answers. My jaw hit the ground when the computer reported my score as a 77%! What in the hell? I was very disappointed. But then I thought back to college. *sigh*  Every time I was convinced I’d aced a test, I’d usually nearly fail it. Figures

So, asleep at 1:30am or something like that, up this morning at 6:30am to get Justin to school. Got to the loft at 9:00am and crashed on the sofa til nearly 11am. I think God finally put his hand out and said, “No more, Michelle. Get some rest.”

I completed a wonderfully short chapter on Unit Investment Trusts in record time, and finally took Max’s suggestion and actually left Purple Prison for a break. It was great - felt very decadent. I went to the St. Louis Art Museum. There are about 30 paintings depicting different Bible stories, generally centering around Jesus Christ, which gave me some real peace.

My very favorite painting, however, is not spiritual in nature. Well, except maybe for me. When you enter this particular gallery, she overcomes the room. The frame is just over four feet by four feet, and the colours are so vivid you expect her to look up and greet you as you approach her.

The painting is entitled, “Torn Lingerie,” by Frederick Carl Frieseke, a well-known American Impressionist from the early 20th century. The painting was completed in 1915 and won several awards and medals for excellence. I sat perched on the arm of a black leather sofa and gazed at the portrait for - unknowingly - about 15 minutes. I don’t know why she is so beautiful to me … I think she represents all that I don’t know how to be … beautiful and delicate, yet willful. Pink and lace and feminine.

I have never seen a painting that has ever evoked such emotion in me. It is hard to understand when all the details are so poorly viewed over .jpg files. The beautiful detail in the rug under her feet, the wallpaper immediately behind her. The lace of her outfit is floaty and nearly ethereal.

Actually, all I know is this… After I have beaten my body, my heart, and my soul to death lately, I really needed some peace. And God always knows what I need.

Feeling physically miserable and being painfully aware of my time limitations, I dragged myself to Target and purchased some cold medication stuff. And every time I feel horrible, I buy myself something. Today is was the new dave matthews band CD and the new U2 CD. They are both very good. Plus! Oh, yes, this is great: got my copy of Javier Mendoza’s “Tinta y Papel.” I was happy about that.

Another stupid night at the loft. I didn’t leave there until around 11pm, when Max arrived and basically showed me in no uncertain terms that it was time for me to go. (He answered a question of mine, and then said, “I’m in a reflective mood tonight.” In Max-speak, this is actually, “Shut up and leave me alone.” He then sat down on the sofa and generally ignored me for the next fifteen minutes, until I left.)

But both my scores were in the 90’s today. So there.

Ooh, one final note. The TV show “ER” ran the episode “Love’s Labour” tonight. Stupid me, I actually turned it on. This episode ran sometime in mid-1995, when I was 6-8 months pregnant. This was a horrible episode to watch if you’re pregnant. Preeclampsia sucks. I’d seen the episode a couple of times after that, of course, but I was curious as to what my reaction would be if I actually let myself feel while I watched.

On one hand, there was no big surprise as big fat tears rolled down my cheeks. On the other hand, feelings surfaced that I’ve worked for five years to hide, because I consider them shameful and weak. Fear - unspeakable terror at going through labor. Pain - thinking I would never make it through. Death - worrying about the death of my baby, my own death. Anger - when I laid awake in my room from 11pm til 2am waiting for someone - anyone - to tell me what was wrong with Justin and why he was taken to Neonatal Intensive Care. And then, nothing - deadness - when I visited him in the neonatal unit for the first time.

The “garbage” I wrote on Monday has a lot to do about this chapter in my life. I think it’s well past time I dealt with it - ‘fessed up and healed the damage and walked on. Even if it is hard for me to say and for my family and friends to hear. It’s stone cold reality, and that’s just the way it was. If I continue to deny it, I will continue to carry it around with me - guilt, shame, anger… Perhaps I should give this very serious consideration.

I’m such a chicken. And like I said, I have a very low pain tolerance.

Still in need of a shoulder rub,

michelle