Survivor

Last night I stayed up much too late reading The Importance of Being Earnest out loud with a friend.  We switched off parts so I ended up reading Algernon (my personal favorite), Gwendolen, Miss Prism and various little lines from the other characters.  I tried my best with the British accent but I can only seem to get the hang of it when I read Harry Potter.  But it was such fun to try!  We ate one of my new favorite snacks:

graham crackers + peanut butter + a tiny drizzle of honey

delectable!

At 1:00am we read "The End" and said goodnight.

I immediately got into bed and thought since I was so tired I would fall right asleep and wake up rested.

Not so.  I don't know why I'm such an optimist about my sleeping patterns.

But I had an interesting (terrifying?) dream.

I'm going to incorporate some new writing techniques I've been learning about -- hopefully they're effective.

----------------------

"He's going to shoot!"  I ran past the three officers, down the hall.  Once I reached the living room, I skidded to a halt and looked back.  I beckoned to my siblings, who were moving much too slow.  "Get out of the way, he's going to shoot!"  I gestured urgently.  The gun could go off at any moment.  They were taking too long, -- I took a deep breath and walked back down the hall toward my siblings.  Toward the shooter.

I heard the gun go off.  I didn't see him pull the trigger, but I knew that bullet was headed for me.

I felt it slice through the top of my shoulder.  Warm ooze began dripping down my back.

The officers cornered the shooter and brought him out into the hall from the bedroom in which he'd concealed himself.  It was my ex.

They took him away and all I could think was that at least my siblings hadn't gotten hurt.  We went back to the living room and I planted my feet so I could lean against the wall.  I didn't feel too horribly -- I suppose it was the shock protecting me.  This was the second time someone had attempted to kill me today.

Earlier, my family and I were exploring the lake we were vacationing beside.  There were dozens of people swimming, floating, splashing, laughing.  I was careful to stay in the shallows, where I could see the lake bottom.  I don't care for dark, deep water.

Someone grabbed me from behind and pushed me underwater.  It could have been someone dunking me, but they wouldn't let go and kept forcing me down.  I struggled under the water, flailing and attempting to wrench myself away.  I managed to push the person away and come up for air just as I felt my lungs give up.  I wiped my eyes and propelled myself backward, away from my attacker.  I still don't know who it was.

I inspected my bullet wound.  it had carved out a ridge on my left shoulder.  I could feel the patch of blood spreading.

Later, at Wal-Mart, I kept asking if I should get checked by a doctor.  My siblings, who were busy searching for something, didn't seem to care if I bled to death or not (although, at this point, I was pretty sure I wouldn't).

That's the way it is with family, though -- unless you're bleeding out your eyes or have broken several major bones, they don't take your wounds seriously. 

---------------------

I've been deep-spring-cleaning the apartment (re-arranging the bedroom/living room, re-organizing everything, vacumming, throwing out the billion papers we've collected the last few years) so either I'm growing up or else the apocalypse really is upon us.

I just hope the zombies appreciate feng shui.  I spent a lot of time re-arranging the heck out of our furniture.

One nice thing about all of this re-arranging is that I've been able to cart out bags of trash and actually get rid of stuff -- as in, after this week, we won't have boxes standing around in the living room (except for the Christmas ornaments which are under the dining table, along with Stu's camera stuff and extraneous stuff from his desk) and everything now has a place. 

The only thing I have left is the bathroom with two closets, which I'm hoping to get to next weekend, provided I'm not flat on my back in agony. 

Right now the closet is basically Narnia -- I'm storing the Christmas tree in there.

---------------------

I was asked to sub-deacon a few weeks ago so I wrote down that I could volunteer last Sunday.

It was one of the most terrifying things I've ever done, because I never go into anything without being over-prepared.  I had a rushed training a few weeks back (where we didn't actually walk through it) and then a hap-hazard explanation of what I was actually doing early Sunday morning.

I dressed in my black robe, white cassock (?) and a cross pendant.  I took The Gospel and processed in behind the choir (first service -- second service it was just me).  I only had one major flub (going ahead of the Cross after the Gospel reading) but I only did it once and afterwards our priests just mentioned the correct way to do it and that it wasn't a big deal.

The whole experience was good -- there was a gravity and solemnity to the ceremony I hadn't experienced before, and helping ensure the entire circus that is the service run smoothly was, while scary, terrific.  I even knew what to do when we ran out of wine in the 2nd service (pulled out the reserves).

I'm looking forward to volunteering for more Sundays.  Being a sub-deacon helps me look forward to the aspirant process, whether or not I'm ever a deacon.  It also got me thinking about perhaps finding a place where I can get an Anglican Certificate of sorts (don't know how many places offer that) and actually doing some research and continuing to fill out my deacon application.

There was a feeling of...not me participating in the service alone.  I feel the Holy Spirit rarely -- it's an odd feeling I can't really describe.  But it was present on Sunday.

And...I think those are all of my updates.

Have a great week.