Dear Diary...

It's weird, I thought I was done blogging. Blogging really is dead and I thought I would just fade quietly into the background. I still may. But tonight I have some things I feel like writing about.

First of all, let me explain. I mean, I entitled this whole thing- six years ago was it?- Pretty Funny for a Girl. It was meant to be my humorous musings of life, and really, my coping mechanism for what was a really, really difficult time for me- you know, laughter is the best medicine and all of that. And it was meant to be for friends and the occasional, friendly stranger. I didn't really think about all of those people who kinda sorta knew who I was but never spoke to me and weren't too sure about me as an audience. And then, all of the sudden, that was my main audience. One of the women at my church declared, after almost never speaking to me in the first place, that she "wasn't speaking to me anymore" because I didn't like St. Louis. Of course, this was after my infamous (and may I say, hilarious) post about St. Louis being a horrible place to live. Let it be noted that, five and a half years later, I maintain that St. Louis was a wretched place for me to live. You see, I was trying to laugh about it because it's better than crying, and I think she was trying to laugh about it but also sort of trying to make me feel bad (or something?). I had no idea any St. Louis people were reading at the time. And then they were, but they weren't laughing. So that was the beginning of, "oh no, people who don't love me but do know me are reading." And I should have shut it down then. Instead, I maintained a horribly self conscious blogging presence for far too long. Over the course of the last few years, my audience has been whittled down to about a dozen people. And if they are anything like me, they only check blogs because they feel bad that they should read them because their friends wrote them, but they really are a pain in the butt to deal with and wouldn't it be better if we could all keep on touch on one site? (Yes, I know, that site would be Facebook, but there are too many people in life that I am trying to avoid!) So yes, I am making it difficult for you to find me, and yet, I don't expect you to. And really, isn't that what I was aiming for in the first place, way back in 2005? This was just supposed to be a way to keep up with far away friends. And now it can be again. It's just the few of us now. And I don't expect comments, but I do welcome them. And you can check every few weeks (or months) and just catch up and it won't bother me in the slightest.

So, for Rebekah, and for anyone else out there who likes to be able to catch up but doesn't have time for one of my way too long chats (or can't catch me between all of the lessons and Bible studies and errands), I'm here, at least for tonight :)

But I can't remember what I was going to say....

I think it was something about discontentment because that is the monster I seem to be wrestling these days. I don't know what to say about it though. When I was younger and dreamed of growing up and getting married and having children, there were some things I took for granted. Furniture, for example, was always part of my vision. And it was a cozy vision. I never dreamed of mansions or resorts, but I am more of the cottage and garden romanticist. These things are "simple" and honestly, comparatively inexpensive compared with what I grew up with. But, as it turns out, these things have always been well without of my reach. Can you say that? "Well without of my reach?" You can say "well within my reach." But it should probably say "outside of my reach." Hmmm... Anyway, my dreams have been unattainable. It's true for all of us to some degree. I feel like, if I am honest, that I should get some sort of prize for lowered standards and resigned dreams. I always said "at least four kids" and, as it turns out, I don't get a fourth child. I feel really robbed of my last baby. And it will be tempting for you to remind me that I am thirty three and can still have plenty more children, but don't, because it's one of those things I just don't get to have and it's taken years for me to stop agonizing over it so you just have to take my word for it, we don't get to have another baby. (I know it seems like I am still agonizing over it, but the fact that I am talking about it means that it is much better. It used to be the thing I never mentioned because it was too painful- sort of like all of those years I was suicidal as a teenager. True story. You can ask me about it sometime if you need insight into the mind of a suicidal person. Things that are really that intense and that desperate, even for a Chatty Kathy like me, are hidden away. I'm not hiding it anymore, so I'm definitely healing. Make sense?)

And that's not all. We've moved ten times in eleven years. And out of those ten different places, I have liked only two of the homes. Everywhere else has been brown and rundown and awkward and ugly. And if I sound like a spoiled brat, it's because I am. But I try really really hard to bloom where I'm planted. I paint and I sew and I buy flowers, but some ugly just can't be covered up. There have been lots of places that were simply the cheapest place, the free place, and/or the only place. Actually, almost everywhere we've lived has been that. Sadly, the place we are now is a whopping $1200 a month, practically bleeding us dry at well over a third of our monthly income, and we can't find anywhere less expensive, unless, of course, we buy, which we can't do because we don't know how long we have a job. And truthfully, we need a bigger place!

So this is not a fun read. Sorry about that. It's not really supposed to be, I don't guess. I am really really struggling with this whole "when does my life begin?" thing. I have put off planting a garden for so long that now I don't really care about planting a garden. And I have gotten over stainless steel appliances and Pottery Barn Kids and even "two cats in the yard" (I had to give my one kitty away to move to this place!). Really, all of this is mostly about brown. I am SO delighted that grey is "in." I figured that out all on my own, aren't y'all impressed?! Because brown is killing me! Incidentally, another color that was killing me for years was red. Do you know that I have a red kitchen table, red mixing bowls, and a red Dutch oven, red table linens to cover my red table with, a red armoire, a red toile chair, red (and other colors) in my duvet, red candles, a red area rug, and who knows what else. And one day this summer I realized, I HATE red. Red totally stresses me out. I never would have chosen red on my own, but George liked this red rug back in 2000 when we bought our first big piece and one of my really fashion forward friends likes red a lot so I just started steering more and more toward red. And all of the sudden this July, I recognized that red gives me anxiety. It sounds silly doesn't it? But I rolled up that rug and I sold that chair and made my husband paint that armoire, and I started feeling a whole lot better. And do you know that about a month later I decided that there surely was something to it so I looked it up on the internet and the actual example in the article I found said, "So if you were in a severe car accident in a red car as a child, you would find that red would cause you a lot of anxiety." So that was kind of bizarre to read since I actually nearly died in a red car just two weeks after my fifteenth birthday. But back to brown, I do like to wear a nice chocolate brown. But I'm more talking about wood stains and paneling and general ugly ass architectural brown. I can't take it! And that is what you get in apartments, my friends. Either that, or you get that horrible big white box "open floor plan" which is code for "impossible to cozy up and make feel like a home." Would I paint this bugly woodwork and fireplace and molding and built in shelving and doors and window seats and brown brown brown everywhere I look is brown if I could? Of course I would, but I can't. And, try as I might, there is just too much of it to overlook. You see, I didn't actually see this apartment until all of our things were being moved in. And let me say, there was a lot of guilt to swallow as I also choked back my tears when I first saw this place. Because we were delivered from some kind of horrible back in the unemployed wilderness of St. Louis. And I am grateful as can be to be in Des Moines where I am actually quite happy. But I am struggling with the living arrangements. And every time I have people over, they say how great my home is. I think it is a complement to my good taste and what I have done with the place! But I feel a little rebuked every time, like they are almost envious of our home and can't see why I don't seem as excited to show it as they are to see it.

So what then? Well, we can't move. We can't buy, we don't necessarily have a year left to sign a lease for somewhere else, and we really do have a nice setup in a lot of respects- location, lawn care, snow removal, free cable, etc. So, here we are. But all the things you would do to a house if it were yours are really out of the question in a rental. Curtains? Cushions for the many (various sized- no two are alike!) built in window seats? New cabinet handles or doorknobs (as opposed to bronzy-brown ones, circa 1972)? New window panes? (Okay, in the pictures, these looked like leaded storybook windows like the Bravermans have, but when we got here, I discovered that they are actually really awful giant X shaped inserts!) Paint the ugly fireplace? Paint the woodwork? Paint the cabinets, the doors, the built ins? Replace the light fixtures? Replace the gross, dirty carpet? Scrape the popcorn off the ceiling? Replace the giant, ugly, mirrored doors and wall mirrors all over the house? All of it is out of the question. And George thinks I work myself up into a tizzy when I start getting upset about these things, but I told him that what is really happening is that I am always kind of worked up about it, but that I exercise a LOT of self control not to make a big deal out of it, and to distract myself from it. But every now and then, Aaaaagggggghhhhh!!!!!

So maybe my prayer should be to see our home through different eyes. I definitely don't need to be reminded of how low we have been in the past. I guess I just keep thinking we're getting closer to the dream- the modified dream which is pretty much a cozy cute-ish little home that we can actually furnish while still all fitting in where we live can actually string a few Christmas' worth of memories together. And maybe it's like a lot of things, as you make a little progress, you realize how far away you were. You really are getting closer, but it doesn't seem like it because you are realizing the distance is greater than you originally thought. I know that these things are earthly things. George says millions of people live like us all the time. I tend to think millions of people also live without running water but we don't want to deal with an Abby without a shower! And the Good Lord knew that when he put me down in 1977 in the USA. But doesn't he also know what Abby can deal with in 2011? Evidently, I really don't need a living room chair. Because mostly, besides brown, that's what this is about. We did order a new couch. The old one was a floor model we bought at a department store six years ago and it is not only filthy and no amount of steam cleaning can save it, but it is also pretty uncomfortable. So we have this new couch coming. I pooled several store credits and a coupon with a store sale to buy my dream couch (for $700 including tax, shipping, and delivery! Woohoo!). And what has come out of it is that I now realize how shabby everything else I have is. And all I want is one nice chair to go with my nice new couch which will be arriving any day now. And I can't afford it. Not only can I not afford it, I'm terrified of saving up the big bucks to buy what I think I want only to have it not work in another couple of years. I'm digging this grey trend, but how long will it stick around? If it has taken eleven years to get a nice couch, shouldn't it at least last eleven years? But it won't, even if grey does, the fabric itself will wear out. And how will I replace it when it wears out? And will it take another eleven years to be able to get a chair to go with the couch? Because, by then, the couch will need replacing.

That's really it. The chair is what is stressing me out. We went through all of this to discover that I am scared of not being able to get a chair too and feel bad that the couch itself isn't enough. Because, let's face it, I feel pretty guilty about the couch in the first place. Yet earthly things do matter while we are on this earth- not as much as eternal things, but when they effect our quality of life and the way we work and move within our homes where we love and serve our families and friends, they matter. We can't have people over when we don't have anywhere for them to sit, right? And yet, can't they sit on plastic lawn chairs as easily as Mitchell Gold? (It's debatable...)

Sometime soon I will write about freedom and about learning to not feel guilty and to just do the best you can and we will all laugh knowing how not free I am acting tonight and how very guilty I am feeling and how I really am trying to do the best I can but it is very clearly not much but just anxious and greedy and frustrated. But here's something cool until then, and I meant to write Wayne a note to tell him this (always write your pastor a note when something they say blesses you are really meets you where you are- they need encouragement just as much as the rest of us!), today our pastor (Wayne) reminded us that we don't serve a God who brings us to himself and takes us in only to abandon us when we don't do things right. His love is unconditional and his patience and understanding are unfathomable. He'll never leave us or forsake us even when we are totally wrong, but, like a loving Father, he disciplines us and turns our hearts back toward him. (For context's sake, because I don't want anyone to infer this, we need to be careful that we don't assume that anything that goes poorly in our lives is discipline for turning away though- the story from Judges today was pretty clearly a turning away/discipline situation). So when you have a night like I'm having where your best intentions are no match for hormones and that whole I have had it feeling, you can take comfort in knowing that even in this, the Lord is with you. And I know from experience that he does indeed care for us even in regard to hairs on our heads and, I reckon, chairs that aren't red.