Nutbars-R-US

I am officially convinced that Wednesdays are Mental Illness Night at OfficeMax.

Seriously.

Last week, I went in to pick up these funky disposable fountain pens that Dr. Jones turned me on to (there's just something about that tactile scratchy non-ballpoint feeling, you know?). Walking toward the pen aisle, I noticed a middle-aged woman trying on notebooks. Literally. It seemed she was looking for one that would balance perfectly on top of her head. Yes, this actually happened.

So last night, I went to pick up a notebook (what happened to narrow ruled, people?), and got the double whammy. First, there was a couple walking through the store loudly discussing an upcoming lawsuit. I mean, confidential details overheard from four aisles away. Yes, this is socially awkward, but clearly not insane. What got me is that they spent at least ten minutes arguing over whether the legal documents should be printed on cream letterhead with roses or plain, simple lavender. Legal documents. Wow.

Then, I got to the checkout and was stuck behind this woman who was very upset that they didn't have the right ink cartridge. The cashier offered to help and asked what she was looking for. She pulled out one of those wallet cards that comes with your printer. "See? You DO NOT HAVE these!!!"

"OH! Yeah, we do! That's actually one of HP's most common models -- they're right here!"

"No, that has the same number, but it's not the same!"

"Well, ma'am, your printer is three years old. HP has changed their packaging twice since then."

"WHAT??? They can't do that!!! How are we supposed to find the right refill when the pictures don't look the same???"

Uh, by the number.

Wednesdays. OfficeMax Roseville. Mental Illness Night starting at around 7pm. Check it out if you have the time.

Maybe it's not right for me to be so amused, but these seem like trivial brokennesses, like hitches in a person's stride as they walk along the road rather than awkward limps or broken legs. I was talking with a high-school English teacher today, and she told me that she was called to the conference room yesterday to discuss a student. All the boy's other teachers were present along with the guidance counselor. The mother arrived about 10 minutes late. She informed the staff that she suspected her son was smoking pot, and she was very concerned. She asked the teachers if they'd seen any warning signs or indicators that the boy was baked, stoned, high, wasted, toked, messed up, gone, or in other altered states during classes. They all just kind of looked at each other and shrugged. "Not really," they answered, "but we'll be on the lookout." Then the guidance counselor, trying to be as helpful and supportive as possible, asked Mrs. X why she thought her son might be using. Without missing a beat, she replied:

"My stash has been short three weeks running."

Why is there so much brokenness in the world, and why is it so easy for us to ignore our own? I'm feeling really good right now -- all my homework was done by 5pm, and I got to spend the night mixing a new batch of cologne, doing my QBOR (that's Quarterly Bookshelf Organization Routine) and actually reading fiction for fun. I'm on top of my game. Yet, I'm not. The messy places are just in shadow, out of sight, out of mind.

Lord, now that the stress levels are down, now that there's room to breathe -- Thank You! But don't let me forget how utterly dead and hopeless even the upswings would be if I couldn't depend on You. Remind me to use this time to invite you deeper into the broken places and renovate at will. Come, Holy Spirit, and fill in the cracks. Let my rest be that of stillness and not stasis.

Thy kingdom come. Deo Gratias.