C'est L'halloween

Last night's post startles me like a strange lover in my bed. I momentarily forget his name this early in the morning after a wild bender.
I didn't...did I?
This incongruous relationship between "me" and the word "preacher" or "minister" or "whatever" is further accentuated by the above metaphor and the previous post about lipstick. I am sure there has never been someone so ill suited to this calling. However, having just written that, I am reminded of Paul - a mass murderer. Perhaps he was even sketchier than a girl with a freshly lipsticked potty mouth.
I just wanted to voice my surprise at my own audacity in case you worried I momentarily lost touch with who I really am. "And who are you?" you ask. Hmm, I was wondering that very thing myself.
What I know for sure:
I'm a girl who woke up and the world greeted her with the fresh smell of possibility.
Possibility stirred itself into her coffee and bounced in her step. It curled up her lips as she walked through the school doors and filled her little treasure chest with small blessings and profound joy. She enjoyed her kids today because she knew this might be the end of classroom teaching for a while. And what she discovered is that her kids, it turns out, enjoy being enjoyed. They like joy. It's about as addictive as MSG and Meth but it does not leave any residual damage. And so, everyone is very joy-and-candy filled. And not much compares to a good and perfect gift like possibility, joy and sugar.
So maybe I'm still drunk from last night's gluttonous portion of "dreams for the future", but the hesitation is still only said with a massive grin and a flip in my gut.
I didn't, did I? (I hope so.)