And some of it is spelled T-A-X-E-S.

And some of it is spelled D-I-V-O-R-C-E.

And some of it is even spelled E-S-T-H-E-R. Um, lest you think that Esther is some chick that I need to do, let me explain.  I am referring to the rest of the music I need to write to go along with the script that my brother Jason has written for the church Easter musical.

But I took a bath tonight and it’s like all my energy went with the water once I unstopped the drain. Seriously, I was so tired that I didn’t even bother putting lotion on before hopping right into bed. And I’ve got the kind of dry skin that is at such a deficit that even a whole bottle of lotion would leave me still not quite as soft and silky as the average Joe. And there’s Joe with his nice and smooth skin and hardly even caring that it is, anyway; and here’s me with my skin that was only soft once in my whole life and that was the time that I almost died in bikram yoga, it was so hot and humid in there–and tell me, is this fair?

But then there are the small comforts that seem to leap out at you. Especially when you are tired. You know, finding a pair of clean and matching socks without even scouring your room for them.

And then there’s tonight when I reached into my underwear drawer and right there, sitting pretty at the top of the pile, was one of my absolute favorite pair to wear. Yellow and soft and huh, I wonder if this is TMI…oh well, it’s not like I’m saying it’s a thong or anything like that.

But despite that rush of extreme tiredness that about knocked me over, I smiled. And felt just a little bit happier. And I wonder how it is in a world where such horrifying things have recently happened to me,  effectively causing me to stop caring about most things, that I am now reduced to feeling happier because of some underwear. Or maybe it’s not reduced, maybe it’s that I am feeling a little better. And able to appreciate some details again–which is so different from just not caring.

Cause seriously, I had stopped caring. I’m sorry, but it’s true. When that horrid earthquake devastated Haiti it was hard to drum up a lot of feeling at all. I guess I was so busy taking inventory of my own self, wondering if there were any survivors deep inside, listening for some sounds of life, that I just couldn’t bring myself to think much about whatever was happening on the other side of the world. And don’t quote me on that–the other side of the world, I mean–I am admittedly bad at geography.

Haiti might very well be somewhere in Canada.

Okay, so I’m not that bad at geography. But pretty bad. Just today a dear friend and I were laughing about how, when we were growing up as some of the coolest home schoolers around, the subject of geography was covered by a silly little game called geosafari. I guess our moms just thought that fifteen minutes of that every few days oughtta do it. And if the fact that I recently asked a friend if Kentucky borders Pennsylvania doesn’t prove that little theory flat out wrong, I’m not sure what does. In my defense, however, I had heard someone say the word Pennsyltucky and so concluded that must mean that those two states touch at some point.

Oh, but they don’t. Just to be clear.

And yes, heart wrenching things have gone on and are continuing to go on, but there it is: a pair of underwear makes me happy. Or at least happier. And I don’t know quite what that says about the world and I don’t know quite what that says about me, but well, I’m grateful to be wearing one of my favorite pair of underwear.

I guess I’ll leave it at that tonight.