When I got up this morning it was no longer dark. I've come to realize that really, this isn't my problem. I mean, I was up at 6:30, not my usual 6:45, and I was ripped from a deep sleep, in the middle of an intense dream. Usually, I would stir and ignore the alarm until my phone, at 6:45, dutifully joins the clock and reluctantly, I surrender to the call of duty. But not this morning. I jumped up, my heart beating wildly against my chest, my breathing heavy, my hands trembling. They say it's worse to startle a sleeping man than a drunk man. I have never been drunk but I have full experience on the sleepy part and I can tell you that nothing is more obnoxious than "ee-ee-ee-ee-ee" early in the morning in the middle of an intense dream.
But here I am, attempting to be Elizabeth.
I sat at the edge of my bed and prayed. I don't really remember what I said but what I do remember is thinking about the verse that says" you pray with your lips but your heart is far from me." So I rubbed my face with my hands, sighed and meditated a little deeper, trying my best not to focus on the fact that I am under a time constraint. Then off I go to my daughter's bedroom to stretch. I was proud that I reached below my knees without pulling anything. I think of the other day when everyone at work, one by one, showed me how easily you can rest your palms on your feet and they laughed at me, convinced that the "ouch-ouch-ouch" was an exaggeration and the inability to touch past my knees was simply a comical exhibition. I don't get discouraged, of course, since I'm surrounded by a bunch of twenty-year-old's. I'm sure when I was twenty my foot could bend back wards and touch the back of my head but man, that was almost twenty years ago and I cannot have such high expectations now on a body that makes a painful rubbing sound whenever it rains. I am starting to be convinced that Elizabeth was not even thirty, which explains why she could get up before dawn and have a skip in her step!
I straightened my hair again by merely flat ironing the bottom of my hair. Granted my hair everywhere else looked unruly but I thought, I really don't need a Japanese look when I can already pass for Japanese--and whose idea was it for women to go on an iron craze, anyway? I wish the wild, unkempt look would return. I really liked it when Penelope Cruz walked around looking half electrocuted and I was hoping it would turn into a revolutionary sensation for women but apparently only I and a string of married men found it attractive. And there lies my problem, I am emulating Penelope Cruz when I should be focused on my target: Elizabeth, the virtuous, perfect woman of the Book of Proverbs. The woman who surpasses all honorable ones. The constant reminder of my failures, my imperfections and how far behind I am!
If I don't catch up to Elizabeth, I will atleast be forced to confront my deficiencies and work through them the way I worked through inferiority complex in high school. The process should be nostalgic. And if that doesn't work, I'm hoping that when everything is said and then I would be able to atleast bend and touch my toes. I think I'm halfway there and it's been less than five days.
And if I'm able to do that, I would still owe Elizabeth some form of gratitude.