Emaciated

It's the sort of thin that makes you believe a good fit is completely quixotic -- where everything hangs or pulls, stretching taut over the wrong places and glumly bunching in others.  It filters into every crevice.  Trouble comes in bunches; and emotional emaciation is no different, becoming the lenses through which you experience church, school, work, home.  Bilbo Baggins' apt description of "butter over too much bread" sums my feelings today.  The ring of power wears me thin.


I have suggested alternatives to my husband, but he will none of them.  He supposes (rightly, I concede) that the alternatives are like climbing out of the taffy to stand in the tar.  So today I seek fulness of grace in cookie dough and ludicrously long showers, trying to fill the gaping hole instead of diagnosing it.