Bullets, Again. Crabby ones.

• Things that used to be easy are hard now.  Being with a lot of new people all the time-- hard.  Used to be easy.  Even though they're lovely.
• I'm feeling simultaneously overwhelmed and insignificant.  Not insignificant in the beautiful, "look at the vast sea, and the billions of stars, and consider your size in proportion to the splendid universe" way.  Insignificant in the, "So what, you're overwhelmed?  Big damn deal.  You're fine." kind of way.  
• In the last month, I started seminary, our apartment flooded, we found a new place to live, and we moved.  That truly is a lot.  Our old apartment became inhabitable.  Unrestored, post-flood.  Moldy.  Stuff is just stuff, but it's still a damn lot of upheaval, plus our wedding pictures. 
• We've been moved, only have odds and ends to take care of at the old place.  Our movers were excellent, worth every penny, a blessing to us.
• I keep trying to piece together why undergrad felt so much warmer than seminary.  I do not like competition very much, and when we're all working for such similar things (even in radically different ways), there can be an element of competition (or of needing to be right).  It screws with my shalom.
• I long, nay, pine, for the return of routine.  Maybe by next month.  I really need some nice, cozy familiarity.  I'm wearing a cozy sweater/wrap/shawl thing today, just because a cocoon seemed like a good idea.
• Someone said to me a couple of years ago that I "seemed angry" about The Process.  You know what?  I am.  And maybe that's not a character flaw on my part.
• I really want to be gentle with people, because it seems to me there's an incredible drought of gentle listening.
• (Yes, I get that I'm talking about anger and gentleness in almost the same breath.  I, like Whitman, am large and contain multitudes.)

To sum up:  I'm crabby.  And mad as hell at the arrogance of telling other people how they should feel.  Makes me want to use all sorts of rude British words.