Dead and sluggy

I listened to a podcast a few days ago where a woman recounted some so-called "Faith Narratives" of early Puritans. They wrote extensively, crafted their own "Faith Narrative" that recounted the state of their soul, and professed it to the clerical head of the congregation they wished to join. In describing her heart, one Puritan woman called it, "dead and sluggy."

After being woken up early, finding the contemporary gallery only to find a locked door, and half a dozen tantrums at the library, I feel the same way. I came home to the house full of music, Mike at the sink doing dishes, and a kiss on the cheek to great me, yet responded with shrug and passed off the baby.

Then I sat at a tupperware of cold leftovers and did a bit of stress eating.

And why? Because I have a totally normal toddler? Because I had a totally normal experience with Italian "operating hours"? Who knows.

All I know is I needed to find a way to revitalize my dead and sluggy heart and let it feel how good the day actually was. After all, it's sunny and Mike is taking the day off after finishing his second-to-last exam. As I listened to Mike and Ada play peek-a-boo between the clotheslines draped with a stripped bed sheet, I felt my heart begin to thaw. A few chapters in Romans and power-nap later and I'm ready to start a new. It's Friday anyway, and we've got a whole lot of livin' it up to do before stepping on the airplane.