She can be here, in this place. She can live this solitude existence and she once thought it was even what she wanted: to be lost in the brilliant white world, silent, vast, overwhelming. The snow falls outside again. Still. Always. She has been stranded in her home since 5p the night before. The roads surely won't be cleared any time soon. That's what she gets for living in the country. That's what she gets for stubbornly driving home last night instead of taking up the offered invitations-- spoken or otherwise.
Half of her is glad for the quiet, the solace and the chance to get some things done. Some time by herself. The other half is angry at her pride and her lack of 4-wheel drive. Laying on her bed, the phone by her side, she stares out the window.
The snow falls heavier still.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
The Fork in the Road
Had an hour and a half conversation on the phone today. That fork in the road? Bam. Done. On I go...
Friday, February 22, 2013
Friday Night
It was Friday night. She was exhausted, work these past couple days was a harrowing experience and she was glad to be sleeping in her own bed tonight. She was extremely grateful to have been taken in during the storm, fed some dinner and kept company. It had been the perfect place to be, curled up in a soft gray blanket on the couch playing guitar and reading her Kindle while the snow fell outside...
But she was glad to drive the winding road to her own house. The road was still snowy in parts, the shadow parts the sun didn't touch. Driving up to her house, the plow had built a wall of snow in front of her gravel driveway. The road was narrow. She took a chance and parked on the side-- too narrow for other cars to pass-- and decided to do her bit of shoveling. It was 5:30. The sun would be set in 25 minutes.
But it was Friday night and she had nothing better to do. Her friends were snowed in or gone away. She wouldn't take the chance to drive anywhere anyway. Two days. Three nights. The weekend loomed before her. It was the first weekend she'd had without any plans in a long while. It was the first weekend she was off work and... well. That old ache crept back into her chest but she pushed it down fiercely. She'd been there. Done that. Cried those tears. Come to terms with those things.
She started a list of all the things she'd put off this week. Heck, the things she'd put off this whole month. The past two months. Since October... Those things would get done tomorrow or Sunday. She thought of Sunday. Maybe church. Maybe the Buddhist temple she kept talking about. She thought about all the things she could do to fill her time until Monday. Sure, there was plenty. She was hanging out with her family on Sunday. She's possibly having coffee with a friend tomorrow, a friend who was in the same boat and with the same long weekend staring at her in the face.
She looked forward to April and the plans she was making. Soon, she would be in a lively house filled with people and life. Soon, she would be out of West Shawnee and out of the snowy isolation the threatened to push against the very walls of her little house. Soon it was be Spring and perhaps she would be living in Brookside or the Plaza and life would settle into a rhythm she could adapt to.
For now, tonight, she would listen to Patty Griffin and Jack Johnson and (God help her) Eric Church on Spotify and she would read her newest Serdaris book on her Kindle. She might open Netflix and watch a documentary and fall asleep around midnight, wrapping her arms around her shoulders to ward off the chill. She would awake whenever she did tomorrow and maybe go to the gym.
Yes, she nodded. That sounded about right. . .
But she was glad to drive the winding road to her own house. The road was still snowy in parts, the shadow parts the sun didn't touch. Driving up to her house, the plow had built a wall of snow in front of her gravel driveway. The road was narrow. She took a chance and parked on the side-- too narrow for other cars to pass-- and decided to do her bit of shoveling. It was 5:30. The sun would be set in 25 minutes.
But it was Friday night and she had nothing better to do. Her friends were snowed in or gone away. She wouldn't take the chance to drive anywhere anyway. Two days. Three nights. The weekend loomed before her. It was the first weekend she'd had without any plans in a long while. It was the first weekend she was off work and... well. That old ache crept back into her chest but she pushed it down fiercely. She'd been there. Done that. Cried those tears. Come to terms with those things.
She started a list of all the things she'd put off this week. Heck, the things she'd put off this whole month. The past two months. Since October... Those things would get done tomorrow or Sunday. She thought of Sunday. Maybe church. Maybe the Buddhist temple she kept talking about. She thought about all the things she could do to fill her time until Monday. Sure, there was plenty. She was hanging out with her family on Sunday. She's possibly having coffee with a friend tomorrow, a friend who was in the same boat and with the same long weekend staring at her in the face.
She looked forward to April and the plans she was making. Soon, she would be in a lively house filled with people and life. Soon, she would be out of West Shawnee and out of the snowy isolation the threatened to push against the very walls of her little house. Soon it was be Spring and perhaps she would be living in Brookside or the Plaza and life would settle into a rhythm she could adapt to.
For now, tonight, she would listen to Patty Griffin and Jack Johnson and (God help her) Eric Church on Spotify and she would read her newest Serdaris book on her Kindle. She might open Netflix and watch a documentary and fall asleep around midnight, wrapping her arms around her shoulders to ward off the chill. She would awake whenever she did tomorrow and maybe go to the gym.
Yes, she nodded. That sounded about right. . .
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
She slept till noon
When she looked at the clock, it said 10:50. That was AM. It was Wednesday, her day off. She never slept this late-- never. Even this past Sunday after going out the night before she was awake by 7a. Even Tuesday she awoke at 6 AM naturally even though she'd been awake until almost 1 the night before. Maybe today was a catch up day, she wasn't sure. Either way, it was a gloomy day and she was glad to still be in bed. Her cat was curled up next to her side, purring loudly. The space heater next to her was silent but warm. She stretched. Rolled over. Fell back asleep.
This never happened, days where she had nothing planned until 3:30 or maybe 4p. Then, she would go work out. Before then, she would run random errands. Do things online. Do some dishes. Feed the cat. But for now, she rolled over and continued her dream. In it, she lived in Westport-- within walking distance of Broadway Cafe. She wrote her Great American Novel in that place. It was so real-- so true and personal and physical she needed to go back. So she did. Until noon.
At noon, she finally got out of bed. It was Wednesday. There was a storm coming. She prepared her mind for such a thing, made her plans, decided where to spend the night to best make it into work the following day. She'd joked with Gina the night before that she might sleep in the parking lot of Target just in case...
Either way, she'd slept until noon.
First time for everything...
This never happened, days where she had nothing planned until 3:30 or maybe 4p. Then, she would go work out. Before then, she would run random errands. Do things online. Do some dishes. Feed the cat. But for now, she rolled over and continued her dream. In it, she lived in Westport-- within walking distance of Broadway Cafe. She wrote her Great American Novel in that place. It was so real-- so true and personal and physical she needed to go back. So she did. Until noon.
At noon, she finally got out of bed. It was Wednesday. There was a storm coming. She prepared her mind for such a thing, made her plans, decided where to spend the night to best make it into work the following day. She'd joked with Gina the night before that she might sleep in the parking lot of Target just in case...
Either way, she'd slept until noon.
First time for everything...
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
From Dust we came...
That's what the older lady told her as she dipped her finger in a bowl of ash. This lady was shorter, stockier, she was wearing a dress. "From dust we came and to dust we shall return. Go and be blessed."
The younger woman accepted the sign of the cross on her forehead with the ash. She made her way through the seats set up in the darkened room. Everyone she walked past had the same symbol on their forehead: a sign much older than anyone in this room. a sign dating back two thousand years... the symbol of ash... well, that was ever far older. It seemed strange and unifying at the same time, to be a small part of something that had endured so long and would endure longer still. The ancient sign of mourning.
She'd been instructed to write out a prayer of confession. She really had no idea where to start. She started scribbling, paused, felt overwhelmed. There is no way God could possibly use me now, was her thought and it gave her pause. How many sermons and talks and lectures had she heard on that very topic...? She'd never felt it applied to her. Those sermons applied to the real "screwups". To the women who'd had abortions. The adulterers. The murderers. The people in jail or on drugs. However, she now felt the very real shame that accompanies anyone with whom life has dealt some blows. It was the same way she'd felt after her brother's death. The shame that came with retreating into a bottle. The shame that came from rejecting God. . .
It was doubt. Misdirection. Anger and rebellion.
It was the same. The human condition boiled right on down. Oh, Lord.
But at the end of the service, they were instructed to leave in silence. They were told to leave the room, exit the building, find the burning trash can off to the side and put their Prayer of Confession inside. It will be a burnt offering, she said. It will be a sweet smelling sacrifice to God.
They followed suit, she followed the crowd-- maybe 75 people-- outside and they lined up in front of a metal barel with a fire going inside. When the young woman dropped her slip of paper in the can, she felt no weight lift from her shoulders. She has done enough symbolic acts in her life to know that nothing would change until she did... but the mark on her forehead, now, that was something else. She wished she could've worn it all day. She wanted to go out with the mark still on her skin, out to Price Chopper, Starbucks, Target... she wanted the whole world to know that she was Not Perfect but that she was trying. She wanted them to know how important this was to her. How it might just save her yet.
She did go to Price Chopper that night and then went home. She made chicken and peppers and drank a bottle of Shock Top and washed her face. The reflection stared back at her wanly. One day down, 39 to go...
The younger woman accepted the sign of the cross on her forehead with the ash. She made her way through the seats set up in the darkened room. Everyone she walked past had the same symbol on their forehead: a sign much older than anyone in this room. a sign dating back two thousand years... the symbol of ash... well, that was ever far older. It seemed strange and unifying at the same time, to be a small part of something that had endured so long and would endure longer still. The ancient sign of mourning.
She'd been instructed to write out a prayer of confession. She really had no idea where to start. She started scribbling, paused, felt overwhelmed. There is no way God could possibly use me now, was her thought and it gave her pause. How many sermons and talks and lectures had she heard on that very topic...? She'd never felt it applied to her. Those sermons applied to the real "screwups". To the women who'd had abortions. The adulterers. The murderers. The people in jail or on drugs. However, she now felt the very real shame that accompanies anyone with whom life has dealt some blows. It was the same way she'd felt after her brother's death. The shame that came with retreating into a bottle. The shame that came from rejecting God. . .
It was doubt. Misdirection. Anger and rebellion.
It was the same. The human condition boiled right on down. Oh, Lord.
But at the end of the service, they were instructed to leave in silence. They were told to leave the room, exit the building, find the burning trash can off to the side and put their Prayer of Confession inside. It will be a burnt offering, she said. It will be a sweet smelling sacrifice to God.
They followed suit, she followed the crowd-- maybe 75 people-- outside and they lined up in front of a metal barel with a fire going inside. When the young woman dropped her slip of paper in the can, she felt no weight lift from her shoulders. She has done enough symbolic acts in her life to know that nothing would change until she did... but the mark on her forehead, now, that was something else. She wished she could've worn it all day. She wanted to go out with the mark still on her skin, out to Price Chopper, Starbucks, Target... she wanted the whole world to know that she was Not Perfect but that she was trying. She wanted them to know how important this was to her. How it might just save her yet.
She did go to Price Chopper that night and then went home. She made chicken and peppers and drank a bottle of Shock Top and washed her face. The reflection stared back at her wanly. One day down, 39 to go...
Barb's New Year
Today is Ash Wednesday, first day of Lent. For those of you who may read this and not know, Lent begins the 40 days before Easter and represents the 40 days Jesus spent in the dessert before starting in the ministry. It's supposed to be a time of reflection, change, fasting, and prayer. I've always regarded Ash Wednesday as my own personal New Years. I'm not big on New Years resolutions because it's just a day that comes and goes and marks something important, yes, but life gets in the way of our best intentions.
I like Lent because it's bigger than me or what I want. It's a specific amount of time set aside for a specific reason and that reason is to focus on something bigger than me. Even my own introspections and dedications and fastings are geared towards pointing me to something bigger. And if you've been following my blog here lately, you can see that I'm ready for something bigger.
I don't know what's going to happen or change in the next 40 days. I'm hoping that through this time, perhaps I can find my true focus. Maybe something will be illuminated in me and I will be able to see more clearly the path before me. If nothing else, I can emerge 40 days from now with a rejuvenated view of life.
The 40-days of Lent is mourning and repentance for my shortcomings and failures and leads to the hope of Easter morning.
That's what I call a true new beginning....
I like Lent because it's bigger than me or what I want. It's a specific amount of time set aside for a specific reason and that reason is to focus on something bigger than me. Even my own introspections and dedications and fastings are geared towards pointing me to something bigger. And if you've been following my blog here lately, you can see that I'm ready for something bigger.
I don't know what's going to happen or change in the next 40 days. I'm hoping that through this time, perhaps I can find my true focus. Maybe something will be illuminated in me and I will be able to see more clearly the path before me. If nothing else, I can emerge 40 days from now with a rejuvenated view of life.
The 40-days of Lent is mourning and repentance for my shortcomings and failures and leads to the hope of Easter morning.
That's what I call a true new beginning....
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Gym in the third
Her abs were so sore. Sore to the point that it was painful laying down on the bench. He had to hand her the 20 lb weights. It must've been the heals from Saturday night. They had been tall-- four inches at least. And she had worn them for several hours. But they'd been on sale and oh so sparkily and they'd matched her dress so well...
And now it wasn't so much that she regretted them, but she knew it would be quite a while before they saw another evening out.
Her shoulders were also sore. She knew she'd taken her body to the breaking limit last week. She knew she'd pushed herself to the edge but she thought she'd stopped before damaging something vital. Tricep dips, those were out. Decline bench press: nope. She doubted her abs would let her lean that far back let alone get back up. He seemed amused at her distress. Yes, she did it to herself, she knew that. How did guys know what four inch heals did to a woman's core?
So she eased up today at the gym. She should've been pushing herself another five pounds this week but instead, she edged back ten. Twenty pound dumbbells instead of last week's thirty. Fifty pound tricep push downs instead of seventy. It was slightly depressing but the day only solidified the resolve that had been building within her: focus. Focus on the life she wanted, the results she wanted, the body and mindset and job she wanted. Yesterday she'd snapped back into work mode. She'd be the first to admit she'd become unfocused at work over the past, oh she might as well say it, several months.
But it began to happen Friday while at work, that moment when she felt her resolve start to decline and her mind bounded out and away from where she was, but she'd managed to pull herself back together and knock out several more tasks before she called it a day. Then the weekend off stole her momentum. After this weekend, after dinner and concerts and Mardi Gras and guitars, she'd refound her resolve. When she'd arrived at work yesterday at 7:30, her attitude was steadfast and her mind was set razor sharp. There was little room for error-- this week and next and possibly over the next month an a half. She had some hard core roles and a mountain of delegated responsibilities to work through with less help than ever before.
It was time to make some life adjustments. It was time to decide what she wanted and to truly go after it. The weakness in her body today only encouraged her more to take the steps necessary to make sure it never happened again.
It's good that she has a sounding board. It's good to be on the same page again after several nights of judging and feeling judged.
She sat in the hot tub at the gym and drank her protein shake and verbalized these thoughts and she knew they would become her reality soon.
She smiled, laughed, plotted her future and let the water ease her tired body. It was good to be back.
And now it wasn't so much that she regretted them, but she knew it would be quite a while before they saw another evening out.
Her shoulders were also sore. She knew she'd taken her body to the breaking limit last week. She knew she'd pushed herself to the edge but she thought she'd stopped before damaging something vital. Tricep dips, those were out. Decline bench press: nope. She doubted her abs would let her lean that far back let alone get back up. He seemed amused at her distress. Yes, she did it to herself, she knew that. How did guys know what four inch heals did to a woman's core?
So she eased up today at the gym. She should've been pushing herself another five pounds this week but instead, she edged back ten. Twenty pound dumbbells instead of last week's thirty. Fifty pound tricep push downs instead of seventy. It was slightly depressing but the day only solidified the resolve that had been building within her: focus. Focus on the life she wanted, the results she wanted, the body and mindset and job she wanted. Yesterday she'd snapped back into work mode. She'd be the first to admit she'd become unfocused at work over the past, oh she might as well say it, several months.
But it began to happen Friday while at work, that moment when she felt her resolve start to decline and her mind bounded out and away from where she was, but she'd managed to pull herself back together and knock out several more tasks before she called it a day. Then the weekend off stole her momentum. After this weekend, after dinner and concerts and Mardi Gras and guitars, she'd refound her resolve. When she'd arrived at work yesterday at 7:30, her attitude was steadfast and her mind was set razor sharp. There was little room for error-- this week and next and possibly over the next month an a half. She had some hard core roles and a mountain of delegated responsibilities to work through with less help than ever before.
It was time to make some life adjustments. It was time to decide what she wanted and to truly go after it. The weakness in her body today only encouraged her more to take the steps necessary to make sure it never happened again.
It's good that she has a sounding board. It's good to be on the same page again after several nights of judging and feeling judged.
She sat in the hot tub at the gym and drank her protein shake and verbalized these thoughts and she knew they would become her reality soon.
She smiled, laughed, plotted her future and let the water ease her tired body. It was good to be back.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Sunday Night in the 3rd
She could've said no very easily but she didn't. The plan was to watch the Grammy's and watch Mumford and Son's and maybe go to bed early. But she found herself hanging up the phone and grabbing her keys and putting on her shoes. She was exhausted from the night before but she had been alone all day and she'd realized a long time ago she shouldn't spend too much time alone...
The movie she'd been lured to see was The Hangover. Possibly the Funniest Movie Ever. That's what she was told. Dinner was made-- she couldn't turn down quinoa and chicken and peppers. She shredded the chicken herself. Nor did she turn down the red wine offered to her. And the movie wasn't bad. A little over the top perhaps. Offensive just for the point of being offensive. Some humerous parts. They had pudding for dessert-- made from her own hand mixer she'd brought over a month earlier. It was good. Vanilla. Creamy. Thick.
Then they played guitars. It was 10:30 and she was growing tired but then there were these guitars just hanging on the wall, the $1500 Taylor and the electric and the bass... just begging to be plugged in, picked, strummed. They turned on the amp. She picked up the Taylor. Got a pick. Choose some chords, she was told, and I'll play along. Play whatever you want, let's just jam.
They played until after midnight. She had to be awake at 6am.
How did this always happen?
The movie she'd been lured to see was The Hangover. Possibly the Funniest Movie Ever. That's what she was told. Dinner was made-- she couldn't turn down quinoa and chicken and peppers. She shredded the chicken herself. Nor did she turn down the red wine offered to her. And the movie wasn't bad. A little over the top perhaps. Offensive just for the point of being offensive. Some humerous parts. They had pudding for dessert-- made from her own hand mixer she'd brought over a month earlier. It was good. Vanilla. Creamy. Thick.
Then they played guitars. It was 10:30 and she was growing tired but then there were these guitars just hanging on the wall, the $1500 Taylor and the electric and the bass... just begging to be plugged in, picked, strummed. They turned on the amp. She picked up the Taylor. Got a pick. Choose some chords, she was told, and I'll play along. Play whatever you want, let's just jam.
They played until after midnight. She had to be awake at 6am.
How did this always happen?
Sunday, February 10, 2013
lazy sunday 3rd person
When she woke up, it was late in the morning. The day stretched before her, a wide open plain with a sun already high in the sky. She laid there a bit longer, relishing in the feel of the sheets against her skin and the pillow under her head. Her body was sore and she stretched, got up, took a shower. Couldn't get the water just right, always too hot or cold. Water pressure was good. She hadn't washed off her makeup from the night before but now she did, wiped the eye liner smudge with a washcloth. Ran expensive shampoo through her hair. Followed it with equally expensive conditioner. Got out. Dried. Dressed. The dishes from dinner were still scattered around. Wine glasses. Pots and a cutting board and there was tomato sauce everywhere. She unloaded the dishwasher and reloaded it. Hand washed the pots, the cutting board, wiped down the counter. Put the wine glasses on the top rack. Turned over the pots to dry. Had a thought to grab the guitar pluck the lines she knew from Blackbird, but let it pass.
This was a lazy Sunday that would be filled with research and reading and maybe the Grammy's later.
This was a lazy Sunday that would be filled with research and reading and maybe the Grammy's later.
Out of focus
I want to sell everything I own and go.
That's a strong statement but I am my mother's daughter and my sister's sister... I have become too materialistic and too unfocused. I have become too content with a mediocre life. I have a heart of passion and a need for forward momentum and a laser focus... and I feel trapped and stuck. My breaking point several weeks ago opened my eyes to this life I am living and the unrest I feel.
I am a selfish person and this life I lead is equally selfish. And I'm asked to come up with a life plan and that whatever I want I can have. That I need to start planning my life and taking steps towards in that plan. I like this idea. I've even come up with four different scenarios for my life that all end up with me in California.
What about God in all this? Isn't He supposed to be directing my path? Perhaps this unrest is something that only He can fix? I think this is supposed to be the case. But then I'm not even sure what that means. I want to know what that looks like. And I wish there was a right answer and I wish there was something I could do. Saw a youtube video of this inspirational speaker guy who said I should want success and that I should want success more than I want anything else in my life. More than my social outtings. More than playing guitar. More than my job.
I'm not even sure how I define success... all my life I've been working towards something and now I feel like I'm spinning my wheels more than ever before in my life.
I want to sell everything I own and go. But I know even that wouldn't make me happy. I want to join the peace corps. I want to serve a higher purpose. I want my days to have meaning. I think everybody wants these things. It's just a matter of finding out how and then doing it.
That's a strong statement but I am my mother's daughter and my sister's sister... I have become too materialistic and too unfocused. I have become too content with a mediocre life. I have a heart of passion and a need for forward momentum and a laser focus... and I feel trapped and stuck. My breaking point several weeks ago opened my eyes to this life I am living and the unrest I feel.
I am a selfish person and this life I lead is equally selfish. And I'm asked to come up with a life plan and that whatever I want I can have. That I need to start planning my life and taking steps towards in that plan. I like this idea. I've even come up with four different scenarios for my life that all end up with me in California.
What about God in all this? Isn't He supposed to be directing my path? Perhaps this unrest is something that only He can fix? I think this is supposed to be the case. But then I'm not even sure what that means. I want to know what that looks like. And I wish there was a right answer and I wish there was something I could do. Saw a youtube video of this inspirational speaker guy who said I should want success and that I should want success more than I want anything else in my life. More than my social outtings. More than playing guitar. More than my job.
I'm not even sure how I define success... all my life I've been working towards something and now I feel like I'm spinning my wheels more than ever before in my life.
I want to sell everything I own and go. But I know even that wouldn't make me happy. I want to join the peace corps. I want to serve a higher purpose. I want my days to have meaning. I think everybody wants these things. It's just a matter of finding out how and then doing it.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Broken
Christian circles often speak of "being broken" and needing to be broken, surrendering to brokenness, Brokenness, That's What I Need, etc etc. I never fully understood this. It seemed a very cliche thing to say. It sounded very holier-than-thou, something showy, something slightly pretentious.
Brokenness came to me on a rainy Tuesday morning and it was the familiar tightening of the chest, the sob just beneath the surface that I normally shove down. It was the blinding moment of panic, it was the weight that made it hard to get out of bed. I was productive, shuffling through my finances, talked to a friend on the phone, showered, dressed, made some lunch and ate it. I'd turned on the TV for some noise. Then, in an instant of weakness, I allowed the sorrow of a life gone astray wash over me. And I surrendered to the brokenness for a good hour. Plus. And I said God, I am so Sorry.
Sorry for what? I'm not sure. For everything, I suppose. For being such a screwup. For not being what I thought I should be at this point in my life.
And what, really, is there to grieve? Why does this pain ascend upon me in frighteningly random and increasing moments? Trying to reconcile forgiveness and a vow I made with my heart. I can't do that. Trying to reconcile my heart with the truths before me and the things I want but which will never be. There are plenty of sappy songs on the radio about that one. My repulsion at what seems necessary. My weakness towards what I want and allowing what I don't.
Maybe it's just grief over the life I had struggled for and now it is nothing I desire. A husband. Children. A career as a photographer. The fullness of a life lived and lived well... and now there's an aching emptiness... and the emptiness is not the void of Jered. It's the same emptiness I've felt for a very long time but now I have no immediate hope if it being filled. It's the vastness of choice without direction, a future without focus. And I'm scared to death that my life will come of nothing. I know I'm only 30. But what do I fight for when everything I've fought for is shadows and dust?
This is all very dramatic, I know. Lines have been drawn. Walls have been put up and others knocked so far down... alliances formed, choices made, assumptions allowed. There's no going back so why do I allow for hope? What is it exactly that I hope for?
To be the Princess of Mars.
And that is my problem exactly.....
Brokenness came to me on a rainy Tuesday morning and it was the familiar tightening of the chest, the sob just beneath the surface that I normally shove down. It was the blinding moment of panic, it was the weight that made it hard to get out of bed. I was productive, shuffling through my finances, talked to a friend on the phone, showered, dressed, made some lunch and ate it. I'd turned on the TV for some noise. Then, in an instant of weakness, I allowed the sorrow of a life gone astray wash over me. And I surrendered to the brokenness for a good hour. Plus. And I said God, I am so Sorry.
Sorry for what? I'm not sure. For everything, I suppose. For being such a screwup. For not being what I thought I should be at this point in my life.
And what, really, is there to grieve? Why does this pain ascend upon me in frighteningly random and increasing moments? Trying to reconcile forgiveness and a vow I made with my heart. I can't do that. Trying to reconcile my heart with the truths before me and the things I want but which will never be. There are plenty of sappy songs on the radio about that one. My repulsion at what seems necessary. My weakness towards what I want and allowing what I don't.
Maybe it's just grief over the life I had struggled for and now it is nothing I desire. A husband. Children. A career as a photographer. The fullness of a life lived and lived well... and now there's an aching emptiness... and the emptiness is not the void of Jered. It's the same emptiness I've felt for a very long time but now I have no immediate hope if it being filled. It's the vastness of choice without direction, a future without focus. And I'm scared to death that my life will come of nothing. I know I'm only 30. But what do I fight for when everything I've fought for is shadows and dust?
This is all very dramatic, I know. Lines have been drawn. Walls have been put up and others knocked so far down... alliances formed, choices made, assumptions allowed. There's no going back so why do I allow for hope? What is it exactly that I hope for?
To be the Princess of Mars.
And that is my problem exactly.....
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