I want to paint my face.

That seems like the easiest way to be someone else for a little bit.  Not for too long, mind you….I want to be able to wash it off pretty soon, but for just a few minutes I want to be someone else.  I love my life, I really do…and I thought this afternoon about how I very well may miss this time in my life at some point in the future and wish I could go back to it.  However, I’d like to just be a cat, or a princess, or hmm…maybe a rabbit for a little bit.  

But I can’t do that.  Or rather, I won’t do that…not being a kid and not being able to *actually become something else* make the painting exercise pointless.  Instead, I think I’ll take a nap for a little bit, then set out to be productive for the rest of the evening.

Why can’t I be content now?  Most of the time I am, and when I’m not, I’m frustrated and discontent about my lack of contentment.  I feel like yarn tangled up in a knot, needing God to straighten me out. 


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