thinks

To get to the point when you are fresh out of love is a humbling experience, indeed. It is a bizarre feeling to reach a point where you can not conjure up compassion for the things that you cared about the most, the beings that were a lot of times why it was worth getting out of bed in the morning.

Change is something seems to be the most inconvenient happening in the world sometimes, although it is the only thing that can be relied upon.

I realize that life is still tough, still raw. No matter how much I fake it. I miss my dad a lot, a fact that brings unconscious shame. When my mood is affected I get frustrated that my thoughts are still dipped in grief, and that this emotion drips all over my intentions. Like a cobweb on my face, that is how it feels to grieve. You would like to believe you removed it in one motion, but oftentimes, usually at the worst times, it interrupts your well-being until you tend to it, swiping at it and often failing.

My whole family is swimming in this quicksand that sometimes disguises itself as solid ground, and I see that it takes a conscious effort to realize that we are not the only ones treading this elusive medium. We are learning how to bond together to float successfully, but it is difficult to become a pentagon thinker when you are so used to thinking hexagonally....we miss our corner. Our rock. Our anchor.

Our dad.

big booty

I just walked into our campus recreation center for the first time all semester. Probably one of the most sophisticated college gyms, within a 5 minute walking distance from my dorm room (practically next door), and I still have a really hard just getting my lazy butt up and onto the exercise bike (I'm not a runner). I stepped on the scale and automatically put the numbers out of my head, conjuring up every reason why those numbers should not add up the way that they do. I never thought I would care so little about exercise...I remember being the most active of my cousins and siblings, always running, climbing, jumping, doing whatever. Now I cannot seem to squeeze out just half an hour a few times a week to get a little more fit. In my defense, I have taken to walking to class more often, leaving my room a little later so I have to take on a brisk walk (ok, honestly, I never wake up on time for my first class, but there is a benefit to that, see?). I also have been trying to get adequate sleep (although my body does shut down a lot earlier than it used to, hehe).

My Waterloo: Snacking.

Discipline in this area of my life will flow over into discipline in academics, relationships, etc. But I have totally been here before, where I tried a work-out regimen that fell flat, or I look at my other friends' failed resolutions. I really have to ask myself, do I want to go down this road again?

Um....yes. Most definitely. I figure I'll take it one day at a time, but I need accountability. Help?

stranded

that's how i feel a lot of times.

pray

The body of Christ is uplifted in my tragedy. When I hear stories about deaths, on the news or from word of mouth, my pain compels me to pray for the people affected by death. There is something so much more real about my prayers now, a reality that, if given the choice, I would gladly trade for the surface prayers of old, prayers for random people that I only uttered to make myself feel better. Now the splinter in my soul irritates my heart to the point where it hurts more to not pray. I say this as a reluctant child of God whose understanding of Sovereignty is becoming more and more illuminated as the days pass on, and as one who, in the face of Glory, can do nothing but bow.

I don't do high socks.

I just don't.

Maybe I am trying to fit myself into a mold, one that I feel is right, one that would make my parents proud.
My parent proud.

I see the brochures, the pamphlets, the minimum requirements, all of the things that I need to do before I am granted entrance into another world.

I see it and I buckle under the fear that I am not as qualified as I like to think.
That all of the things that I have been building up for the past 4 years were for naught.

Was I using Legos while everyone else was using bricks?
Have the things that I have invested in been not as lucrative and therefore not as meaningful?

Is it futile to even think about looking for a do-over?

I don't know.

I don't know what I want to do with my life.

I don't know if I want to be a scientist.
I don't know if I want to be a writer.
I don't know if I want to be a minister.
I don't know if I want to be a sister.
A lover.
A friend.

But there are a few things that I do know, and I guess that that is all that I have to work with right now.

And I know that I do not do high socks.

So

Here it is. Wish me luck.