Dear Life,
I don’t really know how to tell this to you...but, well, I’m rather sick of you. I think it might be time if you and I officially called it quits. We’re over. We’re through.
I know this seems a little harsh, but you have to understand...There is just no way I can see this working. No way in which I can ever see you making up for the incredible hurt and anguish you’ve caused me. And there is much. You’re not who you were when we met and quite frankly, you’re not anything you have ever promised to be. I feel like you are a failed attempt at every turn. A series of lies. A general progression of lost hopes and missing expectations. You’ve thrown me every curve ball you could think to pitch and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the ways in which I have been incapable of meeting up to your ridiculous standards. Your cruel tyranny has left me bitter, cynical, and tired.
I know it seems harsh to place so much of the blame on you, but I can’t help but feel that is where it belongs. Time and time again I did my part and tried my best to pull through – to attempt at making things function – and every time you let me down. You proved to me you weren’t capable of being what you could be... I thought so highly of you. You meant so much to me. But at the end of the day, you became nothing more than just one more thing to deal with.
You’ve caused me enough trouble, enough pain. All on top of the fact it seems as if you only continued to tell me, in every way you could think of, that I was never going to be good enough. That somehow if I were ever to make anything out of myself...I was going to have to do it through you. And maybe that’s true, but I just can’t take it anymore. My entire definition was in how you played out. That, in my mind, is backwards. I feel like you ought to be working out of my definition...not the other way around.
The way you have controlled me has completely stolen the joy away from my very existence. And I can’t go on like this anymore. I need to rediscover who I am...and I have to do that without you. Someday, if I ever figure out who that is, maybe I can look you up again. Maybe we can reconsider how you can fit into the picture then. But as it stands now, I just don’t see how it’s going to be a possibility. I don’ know if it will ever work.
I’m sorry. This is not easy. I really do hope there will again be a day where we might be friends. Until then, I am both saddened and desperate to see you go. I only wish I knew how to make you leave... Please award me the thing you’ve never once allowed, the freedom to exist outside of you...if ever indeed there is a way.
Anika
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Dissapointing
Following last nights deep longings and desires...I made mac and cheese for lunch today. I didn't eat much. It made me sick. And it wasn't really that good.
The fullfillment of my greatest craving wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
The fullfillment of my greatest craving wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Macaroni and Peculiar Cravings
I have this sudden craving for macaroni and cheese. And not just any macaroni (although any will do) but the ones with the awkward shapes. The Kraft blue boxed dinosaur shaped macaroni and cheese.
This a very peculiar craving.
I've been sick all day. (Plus I'm actually currently fasting for a medical test tomorrow). I've wanted little to eat. In fact, what I did eat at dinner came up about 4 hours ago now. Still good. Aside from noticeable...pasta is almost my worst enemy. I've only craved noodles a time or two in the last 9 months and almost every attempt at my former love of the Italian goodness has resulted in a lost cause. Also, milk has not been my best friend. My stomach cramps under it's grips. All aside from the fact it is nearly one o'clock in the morning and now is not the time to eat even if I could!
What a terrible choice!
But if someone were to put a bowl of hot macaroni and cheese in front of me right now, I'd gladly eat it. It sounds so good. So perfect. Like just exactly what I've been wanting. But it's so out of the blue. So random. So arbitrary. Where did it come from? Such a peculiar craving.
It makes me wonder about the other things I crave. The things that just pop out of the sky and land in my lap and won't leave me be until they're satisfied. Tomorrow, if I want, I can make a box of macaroni that I will thoroughly enjoy and surely throw up later. But not all of my cravings are quite so easily addressed. Though most of them seem just as arbitrary and just as peculiar, they also seem so good, so perfect, so fulfilling. Why, like my macaroni and cheese do they also seem so impractical, unobtainable, ridiculous? Why do I want it so bad I can taste it...all the while realizing if it is ever going to be mine to have, now is not the time.
Such very peculiar cravings...
This a very peculiar craving.
I've been sick all day. (Plus I'm actually currently fasting for a medical test tomorrow). I've wanted little to eat. In fact, what I did eat at dinner came up about 4 hours ago now. Still good. Aside from noticeable...pasta is almost my worst enemy. I've only craved noodles a time or two in the last 9 months and almost every attempt at my former love of the Italian goodness has resulted in a lost cause. Also, milk has not been my best friend. My stomach cramps under it's grips. All aside from the fact it is nearly one o'clock in the morning and now is not the time to eat even if I could!
What a terrible choice!
But if someone were to put a bowl of hot macaroni and cheese in front of me right now, I'd gladly eat it. It sounds so good. So perfect. Like just exactly what I've been wanting. But it's so out of the blue. So random. So arbitrary. Where did it come from? Such a peculiar craving.
It makes me wonder about the other things I crave. The things that just pop out of the sky and land in my lap and won't leave me be until they're satisfied. Tomorrow, if I want, I can make a box of macaroni that I will thoroughly enjoy and surely throw up later. But not all of my cravings are quite so easily addressed. Though most of them seem just as arbitrary and just as peculiar, they also seem so good, so perfect, so fulfilling. Why, like my macaroni and cheese do they also seem so impractical, unobtainable, ridiculous? Why do I want it so bad I can taste it...all the while realizing if it is ever going to be mine to have, now is not the time.
Such very peculiar cravings...
Monday, March 16, 2009
Sick of Me...
I’m sick of me.
Undeniably, uncontrollably, incurably sick of me.
I am so caught up in myself – that I no longer recognize it. And when I do it just makes me sick to my stomach. Maybe that’s why the nausea has been so chronic lately. Maybe it’s not delayed digestion. Maybe I’m just full of me.
It’s spring break. I’m having a really hard time with this break. Selfishly bemoaning its pathetic-ness. Riling in the ways the drudgery of obligation seems to be zapping the life out of me instead of restoring the energy I so desperately need. But then, really, that’s just me again...
And it irritates me but it is not the hardest part of break. The hardest part is the inability to reflect on this break with out reflecting also on my last. Spring break a year ago. A year ago when my life was forced to be all about me and so I made it all about Him. Spring break when I spent every free moment on my computer feverishly trying to compile my journals and my notes. My ponderings and my processings...all the places God took me in an insanely short amount of time. “Glimpse” was born out of the intensity to recognize God’s presence. I saw Him in new colors and new hues. He was part of my in and my out. My worship and my reading. My prayers and my breathing. It was Jesus showing up. Never was I more on fire – never was my response more genuine. I eagerly anticipated whatever life would throw at me for the sheer joy of watching for whatever God was going to reveal to me.
What happened? Where has the last 12 months taken me? How have I drifted so far? I went from a faith that was passionate and alive to one that is existent but realistic and cynical. And somewhere I’ve lost the connection. I’ve never tuned out more during a sermon and never can remember ceasing my pathetic attempts at songs of praise out of sheer boredom. I like thinking thoughts about Jesus...but I don’t like spending time with Him. I contemplate Him like an intellectual and have removed the emotion...all the while wishing for it to be the one part that comes through. Begging and pleading to feel something. Anything! I knew there was once a fire but somehow, somewhere, things got cold. And now I’m just numb. If there were a spark...would I notice it at all?
And I get jealous. I get jealous to catch the glimpse of someone whose relationship with Christ looks like something. I have realism and they have what’s real. Blogs where they’ve found Jesus in their day to day living, connected it with a Bible verse...an almost audible spoken word of God, and created another bond between them and their saviour. I can make a devotional. I could sit down and write you something. But I wouldn’t care...not really. I get excited about Jesus, but not with Him. Not like I used to.
It’s not that I don’t pray. I do. With fervor even. If I say I’m praying for you I really am, I really do. It’s not even that I don’t read my Bible. I do that too. Though probably not as often as I should... I don’t doubt God. There is no unbelief seated in His existence or even the relationship He apparently wants to have with me. And I’m not stupid. I know a lot of things. I know the right answers... So all that’s left is apathy. I have effort and knowledge, but I just don’t care. And I know I don’t care. But I want to. I want to care. Yet my attempts to care leave me at stale mate.
Probably because it’s all about me. It’s what I want. What I think I ought to get out of it. It has nothing to do with anything or anyone but me.
I’m sick of me.
Undeniably, uncontrollably, incurably sick of me.
Undeniably, uncontrollably, incurably sick of me.
I am so caught up in myself – that I no longer recognize it. And when I do it just makes me sick to my stomach. Maybe that’s why the nausea has been so chronic lately. Maybe it’s not delayed digestion. Maybe I’m just full of me.
It’s spring break. I’m having a really hard time with this break. Selfishly bemoaning its pathetic-ness. Riling in the ways the drudgery of obligation seems to be zapping the life out of me instead of restoring the energy I so desperately need. But then, really, that’s just me again...
And it irritates me but it is not the hardest part of break. The hardest part is the inability to reflect on this break with out reflecting also on my last. Spring break a year ago. A year ago when my life was forced to be all about me and so I made it all about Him. Spring break when I spent every free moment on my computer feverishly trying to compile my journals and my notes. My ponderings and my processings...all the places God took me in an insanely short amount of time. “Glimpse” was born out of the intensity to recognize God’s presence. I saw Him in new colors and new hues. He was part of my in and my out. My worship and my reading. My prayers and my breathing. It was Jesus showing up. Never was I more on fire – never was my response more genuine. I eagerly anticipated whatever life would throw at me for the sheer joy of watching for whatever God was going to reveal to me.
What happened? Where has the last 12 months taken me? How have I drifted so far? I went from a faith that was passionate and alive to one that is existent but realistic and cynical. And somewhere I’ve lost the connection. I’ve never tuned out more during a sermon and never can remember ceasing my pathetic attempts at songs of praise out of sheer boredom. I like thinking thoughts about Jesus...but I don’t like spending time with Him. I contemplate Him like an intellectual and have removed the emotion...all the while wishing for it to be the one part that comes through. Begging and pleading to feel something. Anything! I knew there was once a fire but somehow, somewhere, things got cold. And now I’m just numb. If there were a spark...would I notice it at all?
And I get jealous. I get jealous to catch the glimpse of someone whose relationship with Christ looks like something. I have realism and they have what’s real. Blogs where they’ve found Jesus in their day to day living, connected it with a Bible verse...an almost audible spoken word of God, and created another bond between them and their saviour. I can make a devotional. I could sit down and write you something. But I wouldn’t care...not really. I get excited about Jesus, but not with Him. Not like I used to.
It’s not that I don’t pray. I do. With fervor even. If I say I’m praying for you I really am, I really do. It’s not even that I don’t read my Bible. I do that too. Though probably not as often as I should... I don’t doubt God. There is no unbelief seated in His existence or even the relationship He apparently wants to have with me. And I’m not stupid. I know a lot of things. I know the right answers... So all that’s left is apathy. I have effort and knowledge, but I just don’t care. And I know I don’t care. But I want to. I want to care. Yet my attempts to care leave me at stale mate.
Probably because it’s all about me. It’s what I want. What I think I ought to get out of it. It has nothing to do with anything or anyone but me.
I’m sick of me.
Undeniably, uncontrollably, incurably sick of me.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Beautiful Disaster
Beautiful Disaster
AK March 2009
A mass of confusion.
Life in utter disarray.
A tragedy of grand design,
Your gifts I’ve tossed away.
No direction, no order.
Only failure of the worst kind.
Falling apart at the seams.
Begging for purpose one last time.
Do you really see beyond my distress?
Do you love me even with my mess?
When you look at me,
How can you not see all that’s wrong?
How do you not just notice
All that doesn’t belong?
I’m not anything close
To what I was created to be...
Where’s the worth
In this calamity?
What’s beyond
My distorted focus?
Do you smile at what you see?
Wonderful chaos.
Brilliant catastrophe.
Do you look upon a storm with the same awe?
The same love?
Is that the same splendor
You’re thinking of?
Do you look at me and see the one you are after?
Your daughter, your princess,
Your beautiful disaster...
AK March 2009
A mass of confusion.
Life in utter disarray.
A tragedy of grand design,
Your gifts I’ve tossed away.
No direction, no order.
Only failure of the worst kind.
Falling apart at the seams.
Begging for purpose one last time.
Do you really see beyond my distress?
Do you love me even with my mess?
When you look at me,
How can you not see all that’s wrong?
How do you not just notice
All that doesn’t belong?
I’m not anything close
To what I was created to be...
Where’s the worth
In this calamity?
What’s beyond
My distorted focus?
Do you smile at what you see?
Wonderful chaos.
Brilliant catastrophe.
Do you look upon a storm with the same awe?
The same love?
Is that the same splendor
You’re thinking of?
Do you look at me and see the one you are after?
Your daughter, your princess,
Your beautiful disaster...
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Maybe tomorrow.
Someday this is all going to make sense.
I have this nagging feeling that today is not the day.
I have this nagging feeling that today is not the day.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Not Quite the End of the World
I'm fairy certain it's time for a move - to the Sahara maybe. Because it seems to me I've been marching in the Amazon. How else could have I gotten into a lifestyle where it seems at every turn something new is raining on my parade? I thought perhaps a move to Sahara would mean I would always have the sun shining down. And then it occurred to me:
Either way, I'm still marching.
It could rain...if I didn't have to march. And the sun could scorch my eyes out if I didn't have to march. And I could freeze to death in the Antartic tundra...if I didn't have to march. But there's the catch. Because life goes on with and without the permission of the storms of life.
It's raining now. Real rain - not just my metaphorical Amazon. For a moment, I considered how much I would love to puddle jump. To rejoice in the rain. And then I remembered my boot...my stupid broken foot. No puddle jumping for me.
It's strange how puddle jumping would have acted my way into a totally new perspective - thought and feeling - on rain.
It's stranger that, try as I might, I having a very hard time thinking myself into a new way of feeling. And it's harder knowing that even though I can smile genuinely at the spring rains - that doesn't change the circumstances of my actions. Why is it hard to make the transaction without the actions? Unless there is another way to rejoice in the rain...
There has to be another way to act. Because regardless of the rain, and regardless of a broken foot, I have no choice but to continue to march. "Life" really can't define me anymore. Life and my constant and stupid rained-out parade is not quite the end of the world.
Either way, I'm still marching.
It could rain...if I didn't have to march. And the sun could scorch my eyes out if I didn't have to march. And I could freeze to death in the Antartic tundra...if I didn't have to march. But there's the catch. Because life goes on with and without the permission of the storms of life.
It's raining now. Real rain - not just my metaphorical Amazon. For a moment, I considered how much I would love to puddle jump. To rejoice in the rain. And then I remembered my boot...my stupid broken foot. No puddle jumping for me.
It's strange how puddle jumping would have acted my way into a totally new perspective - thought and feeling - on rain.
It's stranger that, try as I might, I having a very hard time thinking myself into a new way of feeling. And it's harder knowing that even though I can smile genuinely at the spring rains - that doesn't change the circumstances of my actions. Why is it hard to make the transaction without the actions? Unless there is another way to rejoice in the rain...
There has to be another way to act. Because regardless of the rain, and regardless of a broken foot, I have no choice but to continue to march. "Life" really can't define me anymore. Life and my constant and stupid rained-out parade is not quite the end of the world.
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