Heavy Hearted

Today, I've been working on my book proposal for The Young Clergy Women Project Book Series. I asked for intentional time this summer to work on this project from the Church Council. Their response was a concern for pastoral coverage -- which slapped me in the face as my colleague almost always fields the calls for direct need. I'm the one that actually visits but they all reach out to him because he's the Senior Pastor. Double standards aside, they "allowed" me to use this time over the slower summer.

As I sit here writing, I'm aware how my heart is racing. It's not only that I'm excited about what I'm writing -- and terrifically nervous about how it will be received having just sent it off to a series of friends and editors to read. It's also that I ran into Musicman on Sunday. I didn't actually talk to him. I ran away when I saw that he was holding the hand of another girl. Months ago, I had seen something on Facebook that indicated he might be dating someone. I knew her name. They were friends. The comment on Facebook inferred more than friendship. I tried to dismiss it though I promptly defriended him. On Sunday, I saw him holding her hand. He didn't see me. He didn't see my reaction. He didn't see how much I wanted to vomit. And yet, two days later, my heart is still racing. I'm angry. I'm really fucking angry. At him. At myself. At the whole world. Let me have my drama. I know it's over the top.

I just don't feel like my ground is all that firm right now. My home has been in various states of disrepair. My first blip with homeownership exploded a few months ago and it just seems to be constant in its affects. That's another reason why I'm home writing today. There's been a rotating door of repair people. Lots of checks written. I'm overwhelmed.

In a few moments, I have to pry myself away from the computer to drive to have my annual mammogram. This is didn't go well last year. Let's be honest there. I fall apart a little bit every year. I have flashbacks of my mother's hospital visits. I try to grit my teeth and even smile when the radiologist interrogates me about why someone so young should be having a mammogram at all. My heart is on my sleeve on these visits so I usually start crying somewhere in the middle of the ordeal. Today, it might happen earlier. I sent a text to my stepmother this morning to ask for her update. She's off to see a surgeon and an oncologist today. Seriously, this thing seems to be coming at all angles. So, my heart is heavy --really, really heavy.