Sprites in the woods

I am refusing to be well.

I have stopped asking why I do this to myself.
It is enough to know that I am human.
All I know is that when people ask me,
"How are you?" it is not their voice asking the question.
It is their digging eyes trying to excavate a person they expected to find.
They figure it must be buried, so they linger on my lashes and reach deep into my pupils.
As you might imagine, this is uncomfortable.  I look away and mumble something about being tired.

Last night I took a personality test with my friend, Lauren.
http://www.16personalities.com/
I score ENFP.  Great.  What does this mean?
 http://www.16personalities.com/enfp-personality

She says I am an "Inspirer"
I like the sound of that.
So I ask her to go on reading.
She tells me it is important for me to stay centered.
I need my alone time so that I do not become too scattered.
If I am not mindful, I will skip from one inspiration to the next, never finishing anything.
I have seemingly endless enthusiasm which is contagious and causes me to be spread too thin.

I think about the unfinished mural I started at USARA.
The wall painted into an ocean with sun setting into it.  Orange, pink, Purple, green starfish litter the beach.  It will be inspiring...when it is finished.
It has been on my List of Things Which Nag Me for months.

She is right.

I have not been writing.
When I don't write, I get disoriented.  All the words dissolve into each other, and I am lost.
I don't know how I feel.
I get confused by people's response to me.
As I am by my husband's reaction today.

"ENFPs are fiercely independent, and much more than stability and security, they crave creativity and freedom."

When I don't write, it feels like someone else is sucking up my creativity with a straw.
In reality, I am letting it drain right out of my feet without ever tasting it at all.

There are so many projects available to me.
I am overwhelmed by them.
I don't want to get organized...but I do.
I am excited to paint murals.
I ache to write every day.
I want to have a vigorous response when people ask, "How are you?"
It's just hard.  Domesticity is hard.
And sometimes I feel like I ought to put my head down and just fold laundry.

Another friend once said to me,
"I realized the other day that the problem with Sarah is that she is too domesticated."
I had never thought of this before.
I thought I could be content at home.  In reality, I thought I "ought" to be content.
But just as the personality test says:  I crave creativity and freedom.
So I must find a way to honor both, my home and my ambition to chase sprites through the woods.