insomnia

I cannot sleep. Sometime after closing my eyes last night someone reached down my mouth and into my heart and ever so slowly exchanged it for a pretzel. Eventually the pretzel, fully formed and beating, woke me up and now it is 4:44 a.m. and I cannot sleep.

The word anxious fails to pin it exactly. Anticipatory, maybe? Excited? The problem is, I don't know what about.

Many of you don't know, but I changed my degree program to Master of Arts in Biblical Studies. This means I will walk across the stage this May, and graduate in August. Before I had at least till December if not May 2010. I won't go into all the details of how God led this decision, but He did, and depending on the day my future lay out before me like a giant white dry erase board inviting me to fill it with possibilities, or a god-forsaken black hole waiting to suck me in to a directionless mess of confusion with no gravity.

The black hole relates to a fear I have that I've deemed my Flounder Fear. Not surprisingly, it is my fear of floundering. I don't know exactly what floundering means, but I imagine a slightly overweight fish flapping outside of the water without skill or direction. I have a fear of becoming that flounder. Does anyone know of a prescription drug for that? Currently I'm medicating with the ridiculously true truth that God is with me today, has been with me every day till now, and so it is illogical to think that after I receive a diploma He will kindly leave me outside the pool of purpose. I might be confused, but not left behind. He has a purpose for me.

So maybe Flounder Fear tied the pretzel in my stomach, but I don't think so. I woke up in a dry white erase board kind of mood, lay in bed and contrived my new plan of getting a Masters degree in literature, teaching high school, getting midwife training and taking art classes while doing inner city work where I can somehow use Spanish, lest I completely forget the language I paid way too much money to learn. I also think I'd like to take karate.

I've decided to treat the pretzel with a spin class at Baylor Fitness Center. This is severe punishment. If you've ever talked to me about spin classes, you know that I would only take one if I were desperate. I am. I've taken two classes ever and both times I lowered the resistance when the he-woman said to raise it and then peddled slower to make it look like I was doing something really difficult. Admittedly deceptive, but have you seen the women that take these classes?! They are not to be messed with. I hate spin classes, but I think the pretzel will be less likely to rear it's ugly salted twisted self if I squish it with a he-woman spin class.

Wish me luck! Oh, and I'm back to my blog.