This is what has happened, you see. Sunday night, I spent the night at the home of some church friends, just for fun, and Monday morning, I did not put some things back into my bag, and I left them at their house!
Would you like to hear what I left? (It was a lot.)
- My Bible
- My journal
- A devotional book
- Another devotional type book
- A pack of pens
- More pens
Oh, but I forgot to finish this heart-wrenching story.
Monday morning, before I left their house and headed to work, I was told of a concert their two girls would be in on Tuesday evening, the following day. "Why yes," I thought to myself, "I'd LOVE to go," and when they asked, I told them so! (I never like to miss an opportunity to see them.)
Well, after leaving their house, halfway to work, I had the dreadful realization that I had left my things at their house. I was, however, put somewhat* at ease by the thought that I would get them back the following evening, if I could go to the concert. Admittedly, my things were now half of the reason I wanted to go!
*"Somewhat" is the key word here. I was still FREAKIN' OUT, MAN! Two days is a long time to go without journaling, or my Bible, though I can read others' Bibles.
I cleared it with my parents, and I, and my sister Patience, went to the concert. Oh, the girls did SO well! I was (am!) SO proud of them! I almost cried, I'm so proud of them! They did so well, in fact, that by the end of the concert, I had completely forgotten about retrieving my things, and so had the Mrs. I did not remember, even, during the time that we spent with the family at Chick-fil-A afterwards. When I finally remembered, we were far too many miles and minutes down the road, in the opposite direction as our friends, and ALAS, it was far too late to turn around.
My realization the previous morning had indeed been dreadful, but this, oh, this realization was DREADFUL! I wailed and moaned to my sister, and took on a thick, albeit fake, New York accent. ...It comforted me in my distress, okay? When Patience was not sympathetic enough and had the nerve to laugh at me in my utter misery, I called up my good friend Ella, and wailed to her, keeping up my accent, of course, and by and by, I began to feel better. (These two, Ella and Patience, are the two who had the hairbrainedness to say I was addicted.)
Well, I surely can't tell how it means I'm addicted just because I use my journal for everything and use it to its full advantage and can't function without it. It's a life saver, really. When I have a thought, a fear, a triumph, or anything else you might imagine, I write it down. If it's remotely significant, I write it down. When I need a list, I write it down. I sometimes even, when I write things other places, will glue them into my journal.
There's this craze going around about bullet journaling. The thing about it is that you can do everything in it. Whatever you need: lists, drawings, thoughts. You name it, and the bullet journal swoops to the rescue. Well, I'm not sure what the big deal is about the bullets - lines work just as well for me - but I suppose I use my journal exactly as a bullet journal is meant to be used.
Without it, life spins out of control. And I was most likely going to have to go until the end of this week to get it back.
But let us finish our story with a happy ending. On Wednesday morning, the Mrs. texted me and told me that her mother was coming to Wake Forest to visit a friend, and would drop it off where I work! (Who's the life saver now?) LET ME TELL YOU, I WAS EXCITED. When she finally arrived, I squealed, she gave me my things, I hugged her, and all was right in the world.
P.S. Watch for another post soon, basically just an update on my life, because it doesn't seem right to come back after so long an absence and not tell you what's happ'nin'. Plus much has changed since my last post.