beauty in chaos.

The laundry is in a pile in the hamper, which is an improvement after I dumped it all out on the floor and left it there for two days. The truth is, I've never been one for housework and a tidy home is just not that important to me. Feels funny to admit it, since I always apologize for the mess in our home. When I walked into our bedroom after work today and Jeffrey had completely tidied it up, I think my heart sighed with joy! So maybe I actually do enjoy a clean home if I'm not the one who's doing the cleaning.

Days are long lately. I spend most of my time at work — planning, planning, planning. My head's under water and I'm working one day at a time, but step by step is working for me right now so I'll take it. Isn't it funny when you take such a huge breath of relief once you learn that people are in the same boat that you're currently floating around in? Two of my colleagues admitted to feeling very overwhelmed and I immediately felt like ten pounds fell right off my shoulders. It really does make a difference when we're all in it together.

It poured this afternoon and I was actually trapped in my classroom. The lightning was enough to light up an entire city and the thunder made the whole room shake. I couldn't have left if I wanted to. I felt peace, which you would consider a miracle had you spoken to me 24 hours prior to that. I sat there and reveled in it. I grabbed some Raisinets from my stash (both my mom and mother-in-law gifted me with candy to keep at work. Ha!) and planned away like it was nothing. I finally felt like I was getting the hang of something.

New experiences are exciting and terrifying and exhausting and completely eye opening. That is what I learned this week. Or relearned, as the case may be. I think the light at the end of the tunnel might finally be peeking out at me, beckoning and allowing me to take comfort in its lovely little existence.

(P.S. I wrote this post two days ago and am just hitting 'publish' today.)

One of my favorite Portland photos: slightly blurry, a tiny piece of the creek, bustling with life.