Growing Pains

Ow.

Oy.

Ughhhhh.

It's as if a torturous seamstress has threaded her fiery needle through each of my shoulder blades to draw them together, tightly, tightly.

It's as if bathroom breaks are a luxury, a bonus, a plus.

It's as if crumbling mascara and crumbling composure were part of the job description.

It's as if a mean-spirited cobbler inlaid my arches with cobble stones rather than mounds of supportive cushioning.

It's as if my calves had spent all day pirouetting without my knowledge until that fateful moment of alighting on a chair for the first time all shift.

It's as if a trickster barista brewed my brew without the zing of caffeine to ensure my second visit of the day.

It's as if my figurer will go on figurin' until somebody hits the lights. My brain does not stop when my badge swipes the clock.

It's as if I will never blow dry my hair or stay up late or wear normal clothes again.

It's as if I were a nurse, or some such thing.

For every ache, I am thankful.
For every complaint, there is a gut check.
Hard earned exhaustion is the unction, the ointment, of searing unemployment.

And I wear it well, and am thankful.


¹The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
         Because the LORD has anointed me
         To bring good news to the afflicted;
         He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
         To proclaim liberty to captives
         And freedom to prisoners;
    ²To proclaim the favorable year of the LORD
         And the day of vengeance of our God;
         To comfort all who mourn,
    ³To grant those who mourn in Zion,
         Giving them a garland instead of ashes,
         The oil of gladness instead of mourning,
         The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting
         So they will be called oaks of righteousness,
         The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified. [Isaiah 61]