The thing about being busy

When I get really busy, I get really creative. It's something about the rushing about that gets my blood flowing and my brain working. And it builds, too. The busier I get, the more creative I get. And I start on projects and I get busier and I get new ideas for new projects and it's awesome.

I'm working on a book right now. And a few art projects. And of course, things are so crazy at work the week before Christmas. So, naturally, I've come up with awesome ideas for two more books and several more art projects. And also, I've been dreaming about the stone sculpting again. (Been a couple months since I worked on that. I have this agreement with myself that I won't sculpt again until I've finished my grad school apps. I don't remember why exactly I made that deal with myself, but it's working for me, I guess.)

I've finished chapter six of this fantasy novel. But I have to go back and rework chapters 4 and 5 because of new and better ideas I've had for later on that I need to foreshadow properly early on. That's cool. It's been awhile since I've been this excited about writing on a big project. I look forward to going home and writing. And jeez, once I get going, the words flow. I love the characters. I feel like I know them, and that's kind of key. I want their stories to happen because these people mean something to me. Even though they're not real people.

In our slow times today (which are sparse-- been working on this entry over a period of hours), I get itchy to get back to my characters. I want to write badly. I want to get it out.

In other news, I got to give Mr. Pitts a space heater today. And then I got to talk to my brother. How awesome!

Love my job in the holiday season

It's funny how things change. Last year at this time, I hated my job and loved my community. My community really was the only thing that kept me in the program last year. At the Christmas party for my youth group, I nearly quit. It is the only time since I've been with the Claretian Volunteers that I really was ready to walk away. But I didn't. I was miserable with my job, but I stuck with it, and was rewarded this year with my job here at the pantry.

I love my job at the pantry. It really is, I think, the best job ever. God, all jobs should be like this. I really miss working with my teens sometimes. I don't develop as close relationships with people here as I did working with a small group of teens. But I develop relationships with a whole lot (hundreds) of people in the neighborhood. It is really nice.

And you know what? I realized today that I've found a part of Christmas that I not only like, but that I love. I love giving things to people. Like, things that they need. I got to drive around to day for a couple hours, doing home visits to let people who don't have phones know that we have turkeys and presents for them, and going to various stores to buy space heaters to give to families that don't have heat in there home. I mean, how awesome is it that I get to do that? I love this job.

Giddy

The thing is, we knew for a year before he left that Joel was going to go to war. And then he was there for a year and a half. So I've spent the last two and a half years having every waking thought tinged with the idea that my brother might die at war. Those of you with loved ones, truly loved ones and not just passing acquaintances or friends or the guy who cuts my hair's older brother, know exactly what I'm talking about. It doesn't ever stop, not for a single moment, and not for as long as it lasts. I've had other friends, good friends, over in Iraq. And I was afraid for them. And I've known lots of people who went over. And I've known lots of people who've known lots of people who went over. And I was afraid for all of them. But it's just not the same as having your brother at war.

The stress of it was really getting to me in the beginning. And then coupled with the loss of my grandparents last year... well, I was really grieving and bitchy for a good while there last year. Eventually, you get used to your standard state of being. I almost forgot that it is not normal to spend every second for years fixated on someone's life-threatening circumstance. I almost forgot that the way I've been feeling is not normal at all.

So now he's home. My mom called me yesterday to tell me he was in Germany, and I got the email this morning saying he's on a flight right now on his way to Alaska. Mom said yesterday that she feels like she's finally exhaling. That's not even the half of it. I feel so happy today. I've been bouncing around, and dancing and making faces at little kids and generally feeling and being delightful. I thought... oh wow I'm so happy today. And I am. But... I realized a bit ago that that was what normal was not too long ago. I used to just feel like this. Not always, but often enough for it to be normal.

How strange. And how wonderful.

My brother is home. And I am happy. It's fantastic. It's fantastic beyond belief.