Cubs win, Cubs win.

I realized this afternoon that I hadn’t fed my mom’s fish in a few days. My immediate conclusion was that this was a bad thing, especially seeing as how I already had one altercation with the swimming beasts and ended up outside in my pajamas at 6 a.m., going on no sleep and becoming very wet. (Long story.)

Luckily, this new situation didn’t involve the outside pond, just the mammoth fish tank downstairs and the many pretty fish I know nothing about. My remedy for the whole situation was taking all the bottles of food I found—and there were probably half a dozen—and dumping a little bit of each kind into the tank.

Whether that was right or wrong, the fish seemed to like it.

And so I’m chalking it up as a victory.

I really don’t like fish. Why can’t we just stick with the dogs? They’ll protect you, snuggle up with you, take care of you when you’re sick and—though they’re a little smelly a lot of the time—make you laugh with their personality and attempts to charm you. From what I gather, in the scheme of life, these dogs and their roles are eventually replaced by husbands. But they, too, grow tiresome, so you go back to the old standby of a dog. It’s the circle of life, people. The circle---- of life----.

In the words of my former coworker Amie, "I'm still convinced men are completely trainable."

Amen, sister. Aaaaaamen.

In other news, I haven’t blogged about my weekend yet, which is unfortunate. Even though I ended up not going to the Cubs game (and losing the $130 I spent a while back on tickets—OUCH), I did get down to Champaign and got to play with my kids and a few of my friends. And it was awesome, too, to get to go to Stratford Park and see the chapel folk. They’re so encouraging and great. Some old Cru folk and I watched a movie Sunday night, too—one involving cowboys and Robert Redford kicking the junk out of some guy. That was a wonderful combination. And I surely had my fill of ice cream.

Africa is definitely getting closer, but it still seems surreal. I leave in… 41 days. And, while my support is so close it almost seems like a nonfactor anymore, I’m not really able to wrap my head around the idea that I’m moving to Sudan. (Yeah, not even the italics made it more real for me. Curious.) There’s so much to do before I leave, so many excuses to worry. That whole anxiety/stress thing is creeping up—pray against that. And I, for whatever reason, have been thinking a lot about that guy I mentioned in my prayer letters. (If you have no idea what I’m talking about, ask me.) Pray against anything bad happening there. I have an uneasy feeling about it. That’s probably just the Devil working, though. Or paranoia.

Details are just killing me.

So is my schedule.

My coworker actually came in today and did that thing where he grimaced as he said I wasn’t looking so great and asked if I was sleeping at all. My favorite part was when he stumbled through, “There are just… lines… under your… eyes. You look… (long pause) exhausted.” So pray for peaceful, useful, uninterrupted sleep. That hasn’t been happening much lately. I’m not entirely sure it’s possible.

(I blame the fish.)

Speaking of that, I should hit the hay. I’ve got a radio interview in four hours, an appointment in seven, lunch with some cool ladies in eight and a ton of things to get done in the meantime. (Ugh.)