So, there’s this guy…

I think.

And we’re going out on Saturday.

I think.

No, no, I know. We are going to dinner and a play on Saturday. I just don’t know if we’re going out on Saturday, or if we’re going to hang out on Saturday.

[Insert Dave Grohl singing, “You know you make me break out…” here.]

Yesterday I got so wound up about the whole prospect of a date/nondate that I cleaned my house. I mean, I went out front and not only washed my car, but washed all my windows. With a mop. I hadn’t washed my windows since I moved in, in 2000. Then I washed my shutters and the front of my entire house. Then I tore the kitchen apart. Then the dining room. Then the bathroom. By the time the evening rolled around, I was exhausted and my hands were dry from all the cleaning products.

I’m wishing I’d been working out all the time I’d meant to. I’m wishing I were thinner. I’m wishing I were cuter. Younger. More stylish. With long hair. And bigger boobs. And I’m realizing that all my old insecurities are back from vacation. And I hate that.

I was sitting in church yesterday - first time in months and months - wondering what he’s going to think when he hears I’m a Christian. Wondering what he thinks about the fact I’m a mom. Wondering just exactly how old (young) he is. Wondering why all this stuff matters.

The visit to church was a good thing for me. Settled me down. My pastor talked about peace being a fact and not a feeling. Feelings are too mutable. Facts are to be held onto. And it makes me wonder.

My priorities are all sliding a little sideways. Really, it took long enough to get them straight. Do I really want to go messing with them now?

Yeah, but it’s the chances I don’t take that I’ll regret the most.

Wishing someone would be bolder quicker,
michelle