20 March 2008

Blast my pituitary gland!

...at least I think that's the one that controls when you're sleepy or not.

Let the record show that I have actually tried just going to bed to see if I'd fall asleep. It didn't work. Unfortunately, I just laid there like a slug thinking of every single unpleasant thing my brain could dredge up (i.e, house fires, paralysis, leprosy, being buried alive). I've made an executive decision, though... I'm going to get up early in the morning regardless of the time I do actually end up asleep tonight. I'm going to force my body out of the bed and I'm going to deny myself a nap at any point tomorrow, thereby making sure that I'm sleepy tomorrow night.

Anyway, I figured I could do something
ANYTHING other than just laying there making myself crazy, so I decided to come back to the office and this is what I ended up doing. Sitting here jabbering on to a text box and listening to random music.

I followed this same pattern last night, didn't set an alarm, and ended up not waking up until 11. How this happened with a 6 month old in bed with me, I'll never know, but I wasn't happy about it. My alarm is already set for 8 AM. Not really early, I realize, but it will be an accomplishment for me.

I went and picked buttercups on my grandparents' farm this afternoon. I was going to just make a short trip of it and get them from "the bottom" (the low parts of the fields surrounding the branch), but I thought, "Now am I really going to do this without walking over to the old home place?" (the area where the old home place of my grandmother's people used to be, that is... it burned down in the 30s). I had borrowed my grandmother's old shoes, but I still didn't want to get them wet, so, I took 'em off, rolled up my jeans and waded across the branch. My great-grandmother probably rolled over in her grave. It was against everything she believed in to get your feet wet in March, no matter how warm it was. The water was chilly, but it felt good. I walked barefoot through the pasture the rest of the way back to the house... and that felt good, too.

It had been too darn long.

You know how in movies, people have these flashbacks of sorts where they look at something and see something or someone who's not there or someone who used to be there maybe. Think, Cold Case at the end of every show where the main blonde chick pictures whoever she's allowed to R.I.P. Anyhow, I had that sort of sensation looking out across the field where the old home place used to be. Not as in I saw the house and people who occupied it or anything, but I could imagine it... as well as my great-grandmother and her sister as children standing next to the porch with their dog like in that picture I love so much. It was just a perfect day. The light was just right...

Why don't people sing like
this guy anymore? It makes me sad...

A recent back-and-forth on Facebook made me stop and ponder something... what makes a person "country?" Or so it was termed in the back-and-forth. I have to say there isn't a good answer to the question, unfortunately. I remember when I was in grade school going to a rodeo with a few friends. Some of the older girls in the group went totally out of their way to dress for the occasion... I mean, they actually borrowed people's Wranglers, Ropers, and belt buckles... and cowboy hats, too, it seems now that I think about it. So many people that I can think of even still seem to think that their country-ness (or really any other label) is determined by what they wear, or what they drive, or what they do...

That just seems silly to me since clothes can tear or burn or rot, trucks and tractors can go kaput, and a person could (for whatever reason) not be able to do the things they've always done and defined themselves by.

For me, I'm satisfied just being who I am with no labels and without trying to fit under someone else's heading or subheading. I do what I do and am what I am based on nothing more than the fact that I like what I like (with the obvious exception of some things that I do being required of me by my Lord, which I try to do whether I
like them or not).

Ahh... it's 1:33 in the AM. My crazy body...