I’m just going to say it. My mood sucks. I mean, if you were here, I’d be pleasant because it’s not your fault, but I’d be faking it. Some muscle in my back spasmed all last night. When I woke up, my neck hurt in a few new places. The pain comes and goes, and I can’t very well turn to the left. (Zac Efron, please come around to my right side so I can see you.) As Grandpa used to say, I’m stiff in all the wrong places. From the shoulders up, I’m so rigid that I feel as if I’m turning into Pinocchio–the boy made out of wood.

Today was a day for adulting, something I particularly loathe when I don’t feel well. It’s like I just want to hide under the covers and let someone else handle things, let someone else take care of me. Of course, I’m thirty-six and too much of a control freak to let that happen. The insurance company called today with an estimate of what my car is worth–or rather–isn’t worth. Considering how old it is, I guess the amount is all right, but it’s not really enough to buy something comparable. I spoke with a friend who works in claims, and he gave me another, slightly higher estimate. So I’m officially in “negotiations,” which I know sounds very suit-and-tie, but actually happened while I was in my pajamas.

This afternoon I picked up a rental car, which I can use until the property claim is settled. (That’s me and part of the car in the above photo.) The lady from the insurance company said, “You can use it up to two days after the check is cut. If that sounds short, it’s because it is.” (How’s that for honesty?) I said, “Two days really isn’t much time to find and buy a new car.” She said, “I know.”

One of my friend’s recommended a car lot he and his family have used longer than I’ve been alive, so I stopped by there after picking up the rental car. The guy was super helpful, seemed like a straight-shooter. He had one car, a Ford Focus, with a reclaimed title that he said he could sell me for about what the insurance company was offering. I may go drive it tomorrow. But–honestly–I don’t want a Ford Focus. He also said he’s got an SUV arriving later this week that sounds pretty great, but it’s more than the amount of the insurance money. I haven’t seen the vehicle yet, but all evening I’ve been doing that practicality versus desire thing because I could really see myself in an SUV.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Last night before I went to bed, I smoked a cigarette and threw the rest of the pack in the toilet because I was flat out of willpower and knew what would happen if I didn’t. I waited a minute to flush it, so I got to see a nice stream of tar and nicotine seep out each cigarette and run to the bottom of the bowl. Disgusting, I thought. But all day I’ve been thinking I should have immediately fished them out and used a hairdryer to bring them back to life. What a waste, I’m currently thinking. This is what nicotine can do to a person. One minute you love it, the next minute you hate it. Desire comes and goes.

Here’s a picture of me and my friend Mary Anne. It was taken at the Greenwood Junior Cotillion as part of a patriotic-themed Halloween event. I include it now because 1) I need a picture, 2) tomorrow is July 4th, and 3) I currently feel anything but free. So–irony.

In order to distract myself from my cravings, tonight I watched two-thirds of a three-hour movie called Titus. My friend Justin recommended it, and I just have to say, “What the hell?” It’s a sort-of-modern day take on a Shakespeare tragedy, which–I think–is hard enough to understand without adding in murdering, raping gladiators who smoke cigarettes (nicotine!) and play video games. I wanted to throw my laptop across the room. This sort of ignorance happened with one of Justin’s other movie suggestions recently, so I’m officially revoking his cinema-recommendation privileges as of this moment.

So let it be written, so let it be done.

Tonight I went to Walmart for coffee filters because I’m out and can only handle so many frustrations and challenges in one day. This may not come as a surprise because–Arkansas–but people were shooting off fireworks in the parking lot. Inside I picked up the coffee filters, some bananas, and two cans of vegetarian baked beans for tomorrow and headed to the check-out. Well, I had such a “screw the world” attitude that I actually stepped in front of an old lady who got to the line at the same time I did. Her basket is full, I thought. I only have a few things. Well, Jesus must have been watching because the lady asked if she could go ahead, since she was with the guy in front of me. I looked at their TWO full baskets and said, “Sure. I’m not in a hurry.” Internally I added, God hates me.

This may not come as a surprise because–Arkansas–but I ended up being related to both the lady and the guy. (She’s my mom’s aunt; he’s my mom’s cousin. We only see each other when someone dies because we’re tight like that.) Honestly, I don’t remember ever having a conversation with my great-aunt before. But we chatted for a few minutes. Turns out we’re on the same schedule–stay up until six in the morning, wake up at four in the afternoon. I mean, we didn’t hug, but I found it fascinating. I wish I could tell you why random shit like this happens, but it doesn’t make any more sense to me than getting in a car wreck or that business with the insurance money.

The mystic Meister Eckhart said, “It is permissible to take life’s blessings with both hands provided thou dost know thyself prepared in the opposite event to take them just as gladly. This applies to food and friends and kindred, to anything God gives and takes away.” I always love this quote when God is giving, but whenever God is taking, I kind of hate it. Lately I’ve been thinking that I didn’t have that much more to give–I’m  pretty much worn out here, Jesus–but apparently I have a lot left to give–like a car, maybe some money, part of my health, and my good mood.

Here you go, Lord, take all you need.

There’s this feeling when you’ve been smoking cigarettes and you haven’t had one in about twenty-four hours, sort of like you want to run up the walls, jump out of your skin, or maybe shove a rusty knife into someone’s leg. You think, This will never get better. But then you wait a day or two, maybe a week, and it does. You look back and think, That wasn’t so bad. In the process, you find a lot of compassion for anyone who deals with addiction. So in terms of my stiff neck and needing to buy a new car, I’m currently halfway up the wall. I don’t have a rusty knife, but you’d better still keep your legs away. That being said, I have every confidence that given enough time, I’ll come back down the wall and find myself more understanding, more compassionate. Since God works in mysterious ways, I’m trying my best to keep both hands open, to gladly accept whatever comes and goes.