Itchy.

Today I awakened with an itchy throat. I wanted to reach down and scratch it with my overgrown fingernails. Didn't bode well for the day. "If I lay heeeere, if I just lay here..."

Last night I downloaded Allison Vesterfelt's freshly released e-book, Writing To Find Yourself, because of course I need yet another thing to tell me how to do something before I bother trying. Perfectionist. You know this. Anyway, the e-book is an adorable little thing--only one hundred pages. I wanted to read it all in one go, but it was late and I was tired so I stopped on page fifty-five. This is unimportant and I am stalling. It's part of the exercise.

Anyway, the only thing that made me forget about wanting to remove my throat was my excitement about getting to finish Allison's book. The first half was eerily relevant and encouraging, giving me things to work on instead of providing a security blanket for my excuses and bad habits. I was stoked to finish it thinking, "Holy coconuts, I think I'm going to write something after this!" And then I noticed something, yet another thing to hide behind: after this. As in, after I finish reading about how to do this thing as perfectly as possible even though the entirety of what I've read so far is about NOT striving for perfection and instead allowing room for error/growth/allowing yourself to be where you are in order to discover what needs adjustment. So, instead of finishing the book, I stopped (with brute force) on page eighty and decided to tackle what I found to be the hardest challenge yet addressed: "write now, edit later." UM, WHAT. That is completely foreign language as someone who only ever edits as she goes. I don't even know what a draft is. Actually wait, it's that thing where I spend ten years "waiting" to say stuff and then when it finally comes out it's like the ends of the bread that no one ate that you pull from the back of the fridge half-frozen, blue, and disturbingly fuzzy (if you do eat those, comment below--in their fresh state, obviously), and then no one ever wants to see the insides of that fridge again... But I digress.

Write now, edit later. I had to sit and make that mean something to me. Even writing this, I've been careful and even cheated and deleted/added a couple of things. Just for that, I, when I've finished this, have to post it as-is. I don't get to edit later because I cheated. Self-inflicted punishment. That line I wanted to add back up at the top in between "...bother trying" and "Perfectionist"? Nope. You'll never know what it was. You may be wondering whether or not I am being serious--I am. It is ri-di-cu-lous that I have to (choose to) treat myself this way. But until I get more comfortable with being uncomfortable, that's how it's going to be. Don't worry, you don't have to understand. Although, something tells me that a lot of you do.

After I finish Allison's wonderful, Godsend of an e-book, I'm going to tell everyone to download it, and then I'm going to read it again and take notes. What a truly invaluable work that applies to so much more than just writing. Like, I'm considering using the whole of chapter six to patch some cigarette burns in my tapestry, so to speak. There is so much more to say about it--I mean heck, if this mini-book moved me to post on my crusty, dusty, crypt of a "blog," imagine what it'll do for less abnormal people?!

Well done, Allison. Thank you for turning a day that began with an itchy throat into a day of first steps toward betterment. Maybe it won't be a year before I post here again.


~mm~

Pessimistimo.

I'm a reasonably positive person. Or, I used to be. Not quite sure anymore. I mean, happiness isn't really a staple item in my emotional inventory. But the other day I had a thought...

I don't remember what I was doing, or thinking for that matter, but whatever it was sparked a devastating realization: I think I'm a pessimist.

I've come to a point where even if good things are happening, I don't believe they'll last for long. I am constantly, actively, waiting for the next heavy blow. It's as if I've come to a point where I won't even allow myself to become happy for fear of something dreadful coming right behind it and causing my world to come tumbling down all over again. I began to think about whether or not this has always been the underlying case and, if it hasn't been, why it is now.

The conclusion to which I came can best be described as the feeling you get when you wash NyQuil down with potent coffee. (Long story. Just don't ever do it.) The juxtaposition felt within your gut is nauseating. So keep that in mind when I say that in some ways my hope has diminished greatly, and in other ways it hasn't. This comes mainly from the fact that I'm speaking of two different types of hope.

I've stopped believing that good things are going to happen in the near future because 1) they've been bad for so long, and 2) why believe that when I don't know it to be true anyway? But then I notice the words "good" and "bad." What I see as being good currently may not be in the big picture, and what I see as being bad could be good in the big picture. It is for this reason that my constant Hope remains. I have hope in the fact that Christ loves me to the nth degree, doesn't enjoy my pain, wants and knows what is best for me, and will lovingly carry me through whatever comes between now and Heaven. The thing is, most people would gather that life isn't much fun when you're slumming around in the emotional middle ground, but to be honest, I find joy more often than not. There are always hundreds upon thousands of things to be thankful for no matter how dismal things get. You may just have to work a little harder to find them.

In fact, sometimes I wonder whether or not there's even anything technically wrong with what I've decided to temporarily call "being levelheaded." I mean, obviously, imagining that you're going to die in a car crash just because you had a wonderful day is an issue. But what about simply waiting to see what happens without being incredibly hopeful so as to not have your spirits crushed when things don't go as planned? I imagine some would say that my current method of dealing is a one of self-preservation and I would have to agree with them. We are conditioned to avoid actions and situations that have led to pain in the past. So, at this point, why would I be inclined to be hopeful when few positive things have come of it before?

Yesterday, my pastor spoke of Abraham and his history of events as they pertained to the cultivating of his faith. Something that struck me throughout was how long it took for Abraham to trust. How long it took for his faith to outweigh his feelings.* It wasn't the fact that I thought he should've gotten a grip sooner than later. It was the fact that the dude was old. And that I'm a baby. It took literal years for his story to unfold (as is the case with everyone, but I hope you get what I mean). I don't mean that to be an excuse to learn lessons more slowly because I've "got all the time in the world." We have been given the stories of those who have gone before us partially, I'm sure, to aid us in wrapping our thick skulls around various concepts perhaps more quickly than they did. What I'm saying is that maybe all this time, all these wearisome chapters, have been cultivating my faith and I've been blind to it. Duh.

That's not to say that I'm going to be all smiles now. The fact remains that the future is still unknown, and I will probably continue in my method of self-preservation until something happens to change the need for it. However, maybe the pain will be that much more bearable knowing that He sees all and is never idle, always holding our fragile hearts in His all-encompassing hands.

Now the battle will be to find the tight little space between thinking that I'm going to win the lottery next month without even buying a ticket (overly positive) and thinking that I'm going get hit by a monster truck while crossing the street on my way back from an LA Phil performance (overly negative). Me and my sick little mind...

Prayers, yeah? S'il vous plaît et merci.


*I emphasize "outweigh" here because I think it's exactly that and not the elimination of human feelings.


Peace & pancakes.



-mm-

Feelings of Inferiority

I am surrounded by greatness.

All the time, I am surrounded by greatness.

It is almost as if I skitter about on the grimy ground

beneath the feet of those who walk before me with their heads externally held high

trying to catch whatever little flakes of brilliance fall from their shedding exterior.

I crawl behind, scraping up what they need no longer and make it new,

make it my own.

I feel not much more than a recycler digging through bins

wondering how I allowed myself to get to this place.

I move as a ghost searching silently for characteristics I'd like to emulate--

or what's worse--finding characteristics that I once had

that are now either missing entirely

or trapped under the glacierous surface of what used to be my being.

I hate it.

Back to the beginning I must go.

On my Father's lap must I sit and beg,

"Remind me who I am again?

And please, turn me into something better than that."

Everyone wants to make a difference.

At least, they all say so. . .

It is time to turn "say" into "do."

It is time to turn wishes into actions.

It is time to turn inspiration into art.

I have come to a point at which I must be more comfortable with walking in circles to start

than I would be with standing still

watching the world pass me by

one day at a time

while being eroded by the sands of time.

The first step. . .

. . .has been taken.