What are rainy Saturdays good for? Dreary, they are, or at least this one. The sort of day that’s only just lighter at nine o’clock than at seven and persists in being so all day. Aside from some pinkish bits of sky right now. I sorted more stuff in my room, I made a couple brackets to hand a power strip on the back of my guitar amp, plowed through a bit more of Xenocide (Orson Scott Card), weekly house cleaning. Slept in, because I stayed up until about 0030 reading ‘The Tale of Despereaux; being the story of a mouse, a princess, some soup, and a spool of thread’ (Kate DiCamillo). Nothing like staying up late with a book and a good piece of your birthday Cheesecake – prime topper for a halfway decent Birthday. Especially after attending a Portland Sea Dogs game yesterday evening with my youth group, which was a lot of fun. Sea Dogs won, which was a plus. Not a half bad way of beginning my last year as a teenager, I suppose.
All in all it’s been a decent week, perhaps a bit mundane. Or seems so in light of my current mood, anyhow. Blurry would be a better word. Spent Monday making a large dent in clutter, Tuesday being oriented to SMCC (which was interesting, and occasionally helpful), work the rest of the week, and Dad’s Ordination service Wednesday night. Had a pile of the family here for supper and didn’t get to spend very much time with people on the whole due to my getting home just about in time for it, but it was quite good nonetheless.
And so was my week. Shadowed by the moment in which I am currently, but my week nonetheless. It may be a small world, but it’s plenty big enough to get lost in, seem like you’re a nebulous region without an immediate purpose. To feel rejected by some, which overshadows acceptance by others and gives birth to the conception that no one really knows who you are; that you may not even know yourself. Obnoxiosly persistant feeling, it is.