deep space benedryl

One wonderful thing about being busy with extra work is that you really don't have time to think about the other things missing in your life.

I'm happy and tired on a basic level, each day. 
I enjoy band practices now more than ever, because my band mates are near and dear.
I enjoy being at Starbucks, because I am good at it, and I'm constantly built up by the people around me.
I enjoy thinking about the future, rather than dreading it, because I'll be done with The Internship someday.
I like glasses, I like leaving behind fuss. I like to wash my hair when I want, and not on the strict every-other day-white-girl-hair-schedule.

I don't cry anymore, because my eyes don't really know how.
I don't think about how alone I am, because I'm just not alone.
If I feel crazy, I go to the gym, and the crazy goes away.
If I talk to God, He calms my heart.

all the equations got so simple, it almost makes me wish I was this busy all the time.

that's alright, that's okay, I'm alive.

I've been having some sweet days. Saturday night, most of my friends weren't at church, and I was tired, so I went home instead of going out. Only my dad was up, and we watched Pawn Stars and some really cheesy Christian movie and we drank whiskey together and ate falafel.

Sunday I had to work, but then went to the band meeting after about 600 mg of caffeine, and then got lectured by Amalia about my future, and went to La Frontera with Celisse and Bryan.

Today I just worked, and worked and worked, but then I went to the gym and listened to a message, and I feel strong. I think some of my poor single girlfriends are being attacked by sons of Satan this week, and I am going to do my best to bombard them with encouragement.

WE WILL WIN THIS WAR. It can only bend so far before it breaks. Into something glorious. Whether in five years, or forty, or when I meet my maker somewhere in between.
I am asking God to melt my iceberg heart. That what lies beneath the surface would be purged of bitterness and replaced with love.

secure the grounds for the later parade

I put the CD into the slot and watched it get sucked into the machine. The 12:36am BBC blurb about meth in Korea is silenced by the quiet before what I know is coming.

It was like I saved it for all these years (wrapped up in the perfect wrapping paper, the paper with the patterns coming out of my blood) and I took it out of a box: the smile that was going to come.

The song started, and I smiled that smile, you better believe it.

The smile from remembering a flame, but not the burn. A flame that was too much of a chemical fire to ever become real love. It dissolved into the rest of life, diluted by the changing seasons and new carnage.

What I mean is, that song reminded me of the purity I used to feel every morning, staring at my own reflection. A naivete that is long-gone. A child who cherished all pain because being alive was brilliant and gutsy. It reminded me of a winter without nightmares.

And this very early morning of August 23rd feels clean and new again.

back on track

Days left of The Internship: 59

Today I am extremely organized. Feeling good. Almost feeling healthy again, after 4 days of legit medicine/vitamins/going to bed early.

I finished my calls tonight and took Rush for a walk as the sun was setting. Some old people were sitting out on their porch and told me Rush was a beautiful dog. I chatted with them for a second. It felt like the Midwest for the tiny moment that I needed it to. Soon I was waving to all the old people on all the porches.

Hello. Good Evening. You are my hope, tonight.

I prayed for 45 minutes, just walking around the neighborhood, and it felt great to talk to God, and it felt close to pray for people I love, and relieving to pray for people I extremely dislike.

We can be joyful. We can be strong.

of oxygen and light

Status update: a little less crazy.

Still adjusting to doing "work" four nights a week on top of my usual job, but I think my stress level went down two notches after a restful weekend of Indian food, church, long runs, sleeping in, and Jack Bauer.

Makensy and T'Keyah and I keep talking about Christmas (I know it is still 99 degrees) but I'm already dreaming. Dreaming about wearing pants and drinking tea. Dreaming about Nat King Cole and Christmas lights. About glorious routine and snow and molasses cookies and cold cold nights to heap on the comforters. About spicy smells and sci-fi books and never sweating in my car.

Anyway. Elaine finally came back from her maternity leave, and I didn't even know how much I missed her, until I was laughing my guts out, and hearing my own enthusiasm at full throttle. I'm not a naturally optimistic person, but the child in her brings out the child in me.

And in everything, God is good. Some moments I come home, and stand at my kitchen sink, talking to my parents, and I'm so... satisfied.
I'm not winning everyday. 
God hasn't blessed me with the love of my life, but I have awesome friends to fight this fight. I have the honor of spending all this time with my ridiculously wonderful parents and family, and I forget about the societal pressure of moving out for a minute. Our home is a retreat.
From the foolish things I do during the day.
From the heartbreaking wickedness that rests even in such a quiet, conservative part of America.

God has given me home.

I told you to be patient

It's easy. I mean it's hard but it's easy. To keep you at a distance. To love you from far away and give up or come crawling back at my leisure. Since the whole thing is imagination carefully dreamed up with petty real life evidence, in between 5am espresso shots, interviews, chewed up nails and long lonely dinners staring into space.

Distracting heartburn.

Distracting television.

Distracting heartfelt prayers.

It's easy and it's hard and I cling to it. On my days off.

Status update

Days since I've slept at home: 9

Cheese plates eaten this week: 4-6

Stress level: 60% and declining 

Hours in car this week: 8-11

Average espresso per day: 6 or 7 shots

Murder chance: 25-35%

Sleep per night: 5 hrs

Days left of internship: 65

I realized this afternoon that I'd listened to 20 minutes of news and couldn't recall any highlights. I try to understand the Egypt stuff but I feel behind. 

I closed my eyes during bass player downtime at band practice and started actually having a dream.

And it went back to the triple digit heat today. Showed up to my dentist appointment in mismatching pajamas.

But you know what? God took all the sadness out of my life. I tried to cry about my stress on Tuesday, and no tears would come out because it takes energy to stay awake and cry.

I'm too busy to think about my heart and where life is going, and it's good.

I'm out doing life instead.

And I'm learning time management better than I ever did in college.

the final countdown

This week I am not so scared.

Of jobs.
Of moving into the future alone.
Packing my soldier backpack to just do whatever God calls me to for August. For Fall. For stab wounds. For car crashes. For answering unknown callers. Of white water rapids and bug bites that keep getting redder. Of losing an arm to the bug bite. Of whether or not my tomato plants live. Of broken heart #57. Of conversations with a dying atheist. Of never hearing from you. Of never leaving here.

Not scared of dehydration. Not scared of going the whole day without a nap. Not afraid to tell people I love them when it hurts my throat to keep it in. Not afraid of empty mailboxes. Not afraid when you have nothing to say to me. I don't have anything to say to me either. I'm not afraid of reading the newspaper or volcanoes or the economy or germs hidden in bathroom tiles. Not afraid of blacking out at a Target. Not afraid of getting murdered at 4am.

It could happen. But it'll be nice to meet my maker. Desperate for Him more everyday.