Celtic Blood

This morning, I felt like I had to make a decision: stay at home and avoid people, or face people and sing a loved hymn. I contemplated staying home. I didn't want to face the possibility of seeing my ex-boyfriend and his now wife, looking happy, because I'd feel the need to punch someone in the face. I'd have that desire regardless of who got married. If any newly married people in church, even if it were a friend or fellow choir member were overly happy, I'd have to hit something. I didn't want to deal with people discussing the wedding and with people possibly coddling me even though I have tried to make it clear that I'm over it. It just happened to have fallen in the same 24 hour period when I'm told that the guy I'm currently still having feelings for is trying to work things out with his ex, which lead to me crying until 4 am. Also brought my head into some very disturbing places. It hasn't come out of it yet, really, but I won't go into it here. One of you will have me committed if I did start to talk about it here.

I contemplated going to church. By going, I'm out of the house and more opportunities to be out of my head, except, honestly, there are parts of the service that I tend to tune out and listen for the keywords that indicates to me that I have to be alert because I have to do something soon. No offense. By going to church, I'd be able to hold my head, or at least act the part, and just get through. I would also be able to sing St. Patrick's Breastplate. It's a hymn (also called I Bind Unto Myself Today), which I love and sing once a year.

My Celtic blood told me that I had to sing.

I'm well over 50% Irish. My grandfather is a Sullivan and we can trace our roots back to when one of them crossed the Atlantic. The one who came over was born in England, but either his father or grandfather moved from Ireland. Sullivan is a very Irish name, being the third most popular surname in Ireland, and most popular in some parts. There's also a fair number of Irish links on my dad's side, including Fitzgeralds. There's also a lot of English in me too, as my grandmother's family came from Jersey and/or Isle of Man. It's debatable. Isle of Man would probably make me even more Celtic than Jersey.

The only missing link would be my own last name: Evans. Welsh name, but story has it that my grandfather's grandfather (I think) was actually Spanish, came to Newfoundland and changed his name. He was the one who married the Fitzgerald.

If it's true, I'm a Celtic Spaniard or a Spanish Celt.

None of this, however, explains my love of Scotland, unless it's that last part of the British Isles I'm not affiliated with and need in order to be complete, or someone back in my blood is Scottish and didn't tell anyone.

Either way, my Celtic blood would have boiled with the hot-tempered Spanish blood and may not have gone over very well at all. So, the Celtic won and away I went.

Wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be, helped by the fact there were no newlyweds.

I need to sleep now. I'm very tired. 10 hours of sleep in 48 hours will do that. Plus, there's an early supper with my grandfather.

I should note that I did notice some druidy things in the hymn. Made me think of connections. But that's for another day.