Sanity Bakery

I was putzing around, reading various Orthodox blogs, when http://www.morningcoffee.blogspot.com/ informed me that, if I read their list of six, I was tagged.

So. Tag, I’m it.

1. I cannot stand for just one of my hands to be wet. If I get something on one finger, I have to rinse both hands. (Of course I could deal with it if I was unable to wet one, but it’s oddly irritating.)
2. I get angry instead of scared. I don’t mean startled or a little perturbed; I mean when I’m in danger, I get pissed. Case in point: Leading a skittish horse and stubborn people through floodwater Tuesday. I became grouchy, inflexible, and not a little bossy.
3. I can be distant, I guess, but I’m also a little too honest sometimes. I treat everyone as if I really know them; when they’re classmates I’ve never really spoken truly with or people I’ve stumbled across online, it’s probably disconcerting for me to be so blunt and revealing.
4. I’m a morning person, but I stay up late because I don’t want to go to sleep (and then, predictably, sleep in). I’m not afraid to miss something or waste time. I just don’t want to. I’m not sure just what I’m avoiding.
5. I’ve been told I come across as pious, but more often than not I forget to say most of my daily prayers. I love church, but I haven’t been in ages because I don’t feel at home in the local one and am not quite dedicated enough to travel often.
6. I can literally moderate my moods with food. Protein makes me happy, wheat makes me crabby. Like everyone else on Mom’s side of the family, I lost the genetic digestive lottery.

Sorry. I think I’m a little grouchy today. Still haven’t found a place for the horses to live now that the old farm was destroyed by the floods. Realized I’m a terrible driver. Babysat beautiful, energetic children whose parents haven’t learned to say no and mean it (and not give in). Found out my father was married once before his present wife. Didn’t know that. Am a bit irritated. Not that he’s divorced; just at the reminder of how little I really know the man. Bah; I need more protein.

I’ll take a page out of Morning Coffee’s book. If you read this, if anyone reads this, consider yourself tagged.

If I’m strong enough to deal with mostly anything, why can’t I handle it when people I love are hurting in any way?

I can stub my toe, shout “crap!”, and be done with it. If he stubs his toe, it hurts and I want to fix it and I want to make it better and of course I can’t. But because it’s small enough, I can manage to ignore that. I’ll check back later, maybe ask “How’s the toe feeling?” But it won’t affect me too badly.

I can get yelled at or fail a little, stand tall, and end up feeling only a little crappy—and only then if I’m blaming myself. But if it happens to her I want to drive down and comfort her. I want to be there immediately and hold her tight and remind her, “John 16:33, sis. Be of good cheer. It’ll all be okay.” But she’s a big girl, and if I remind myself of that I can manage to stay put, to keep the car keys on the hook where they belong.

I can deal with manipulation. I can handle people who are supposed to love me and don’t. I can handle being the adult when I’m supposed to be a child. But when I watch them force that on him, I want to fix it and I can’t. He can deal, but he shouldn’t have to. And I’m not big enough. I’m not tall enough to reach the sky. My shoulders aren’t wide enough to hold all the problems. I can’t be Atlas and hold up the world: I’m five feet tall, and I’m not damned big enough. But I want to be.

Do I not trust them? Am I weak? Is it a failure?

Or is empathy just supposed to suck?