You love me but you don’t know who I am. Just let me go. I’m here screaming out your name, crying out for your attention from the rooftops and yet you don’t hear. I’m waving a “look at me” flag in your face, but you’re too busy with anything and everything else. I’m here just on my knees, begging, pleading CRYING OUT for you to just love me, to just show me love.
And Nothing.
Dad.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The Son's Story
There are holes in his house that match the general size of his hands. His bedroom door has a crack in it. The knob of the front door has left a nasty little imprint on the foyer wall behind it from where he was stormed out. And then back in after his mother chased him outside. There are rubber marks in the driveway from the screeching of his tires and tread marks in the grass by the road from where he cut a turn too tightly in his road rage. There are marks of rage, pain, despair, and loneliness all over his house.
He doesn't live alone. Not technically.
The people who love him do not treat him or his other loved ones in such a way. The people he loves are 250 miles away, laughing and carrying on without him. Sure, they miss him, but they aren't going to cry themselves to sleep at night over his absence. Not every night at least. Not like he has done.
There's enough salt on these floors to stock a restaurant. There have been far too many tears spilled on his behalf. Because of him.
The house is afraid of his next out burst, and so is he. College is stressful enough without a phone call from your dad informing you of his departure from the house you grew up in. College is depressing enough sometimes without listing to you mom cry on and on about your father. College is lonely enough without knowing that your sister is a mere five feet away from your mother during these phone conversations, wishing she could help. Wanting to help.
Then he came home. Came home to help, both emotionally and financially. He came to be with one family while leaving another behind. One morning while getting dressed for work, his mother became strangely vocal for 7 30 am. She was laughing. No she was yelling. No she was pleading with her husband. He was doing something or would be doing something that would hurt her. Why couldn't he this. The son could see it and he had just woken up.
She cried. She didn't just cry. She wept. She mourned over the results of that conversation and quickly became a child. She was defeated and lonely and sad. Curled up on the couch like a puppy, she was actually whimpering aloud her husband's name and no one was there to help her.
Except her son.
He put down everything and rushed over. He was in disbelief that this was happening, that someone could be so upset over the emotional loss of a person that they would crawl into the fetal position on the couch. And then the hypocrite son looked around at the house he was systematically destroying and took a deep, humble breath. Holding his mother like a child in his arms, he knew he had not been the source of strength and love that everyone needed at that time.
Where was his source? Where was his loving embrace? That's what he missed most about his father during the days and nights that he didn't see him: his touch. He spoke to him on the phone. He shared daily life's events with him over texts, but he rarely got to hug his father. The half-felt, one-arm side hugs were not good enough and in fact, they made his father seem distant and afraid of commitment to the family - which he was.
Nights are scariest, because his mind is still in gear while his body tells him to shut it down. His emotions are wrecked from the day's events, but his mind wants to think through things and remember and ask why why why?
Why did Dad leave? Why won't he come back? Why does Mom treat him like a hotel quest but me like an employee when we get home from work.
When will I see my father again?
He was now laying in bed in the middle of the night, thinking about the "good times". These entailed his mom and dad being united - against him. They would open season on their son all year round and lay into him for the most trivial of mistakes. Sure, they were trying to teach him a lesson, but the spit coming out of his father's mouth while he just screamed at his son showed their true intentions.
And these were the good times.
And yet, he laid there wanting to hold his dad close. He knew he was lonely. He could imagine him there in a one bedroom apartment, away from his family, away from his home, but too damn prideful to change the situation.
He could imagine his mother and sister in their rooms down the hall, both silently sobbing themselves to sleep while he watched TV. And all of this made him think back, strangely, to playing catch with his dad at 12 years old. His only goal then was to show his dad how much he had improved as a ball player. All he wanted was his father's approval. He just wanted attention and love and for his dad to be proud of him.
He wanted his mother and sister to feel safe around him and to be comforted by his strong words of encouragement. He didn't want to be the crazy one running around punching holes in walls. Oh, God, what had he become.
And all of these thoughts were now rushing around in his mind, heart, and soul. It was nearly two in the morning, but he couldn't cry himself to sleep. He had gone beyond that emotional point; nothing made him cry anymore.
He laid there looking at the old glove he and his father had played catch with, and hugged it tight. He could not cry himself to sleep this night. All he could do was hold on to himself for dear life. He would have to hug himself.
No one else would.
He doesn't live alone. Not technically.
The people who love him do not treat him or his other loved ones in such a way. The people he loves are 250 miles away, laughing and carrying on without him. Sure, they miss him, but they aren't going to cry themselves to sleep at night over his absence. Not every night at least. Not like he has done.
There's enough salt on these floors to stock a restaurant. There have been far too many tears spilled on his behalf. Because of him.
The house is afraid of his next out burst, and so is he. College is stressful enough without a phone call from your dad informing you of his departure from the house you grew up in. College is depressing enough sometimes without listing to you mom cry on and on about your father. College is lonely enough without knowing that your sister is a mere five feet away from your mother during these phone conversations, wishing she could help. Wanting to help.
Then he came home. Came home to help, both emotionally and financially. He came to be with one family while leaving another behind. One morning while getting dressed for work, his mother became strangely vocal for 7 30 am. She was laughing. No she was yelling. No she was pleading with her husband. He was doing something or would be doing something that would hurt her. Why couldn't he this. The son could see it and he had just woken up.
She cried. She didn't just cry. She wept. She mourned over the results of that conversation and quickly became a child. She was defeated and lonely and sad. Curled up on the couch like a puppy, she was actually whimpering aloud her husband's name and no one was there to help her.
Except her son.
He put down everything and rushed over. He was in disbelief that this was happening, that someone could be so upset over the emotional loss of a person that they would crawl into the fetal position on the couch. And then the hypocrite son looked around at the house he was systematically destroying and took a deep, humble breath. Holding his mother like a child in his arms, he knew he had not been the source of strength and love that everyone needed at that time.
Where was his source? Where was his loving embrace? That's what he missed most about his father during the days and nights that he didn't see him: his touch. He spoke to him on the phone. He shared daily life's events with him over texts, but he rarely got to hug his father. The half-felt, one-arm side hugs were not good enough and in fact, they made his father seem distant and afraid of commitment to the family - which he was.
Nights are scariest, because his mind is still in gear while his body tells him to shut it down. His emotions are wrecked from the day's events, but his mind wants to think through things and remember and ask why why why?
Why did Dad leave? Why won't he come back? Why does Mom treat him like a hotel quest but me like an employee when we get home from work.
When will I see my father again?
He was now laying in bed in the middle of the night, thinking about the "good times". These entailed his mom and dad being united - against him. They would open season on their son all year round and lay into him for the most trivial of mistakes. Sure, they were trying to teach him a lesson, but the spit coming out of his father's mouth while he just screamed at his son showed their true intentions.
And these were the good times.
And yet, he laid there wanting to hold his dad close. He knew he was lonely. He could imagine him there in a one bedroom apartment, away from his family, away from his home, but too damn prideful to change the situation.
He could imagine his mother and sister in their rooms down the hall, both silently sobbing themselves to sleep while he watched TV. And all of this made him think back, strangely, to playing catch with his dad at 12 years old. His only goal then was to show his dad how much he had improved as a ball player. All he wanted was his father's approval. He just wanted attention and love and for his dad to be proud of him.
He wanted his mother and sister to feel safe around him and to be comforted by his strong words of encouragement. He didn't want to be the crazy one running around punching holes in walls. Oh, God, what had he become.
And all of these thoughts were now rushing around in his mind, heart, and soul. It was nearly two in the morning, but he couldn't cry himself to sleep. He had gone beyond that emotional point; nothing made him cry anymore.
He laid there looking at the old glove he and his father had played catch with, and hugged it tight. He could not cry himself to sleep this night. All he could do was hold on to himself for dear life. He would have to hug himself.
No one else would.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
The Daughter's Stoy
She wasn't a little girl anymore, even though sometimes she didn't mind being treated like one. Responsibilities were expected as her junior year came to a close and her high school one began. What was not expected was that she would play marriage counselor for her separated parents.
A lot of things come along unexpected. Grief, in her case, was not one of them. She was used to loss by now, but not of this magnitude. She was not ready to lose her dad emotionally and have him be all but absent for her life. It was not expected that her mother, her strong-willed, playful, hard-working mother, would turn into a shell-shocked traumatic victim who would have to take a week off of work because she couldn't go five minutes without bawling. It was not expected that her parents would separate.
She had always been a very family oriented person, but her tendency to bottle emotions up and turn inward upon herself to cope with situations lead some to believe that she would rather be left alone. When she found out that her parents were splitting up, and, more importantly, that her father was moving out of the house, she couldn't handle.
Her brother was up at college and a little part of her resented him for that. He wasn't there to share in the pain of physically seeing their mother absolutely shut down. She spent countless nights crying both of them to sleep on the couch. Waking up the next day to the lonely realization that they were truly alone together only brought them closer. That's not to say that the mother and daughter didn't see things differently, but for the most part they teamed up and began to blame Dad.
And now tonight, of all nights, she was sitting at the harbor with her boyfriend, pleading with him to "just do this one thing" for her. She was trying to impress upon him how important her faith in God was, and was asking him to come to Church with her the next day. He just didn't get it. How could her boyfriend, who had been with her through everything over the last seven months, not see that the number one priority in her life was God? The fact that he couldn't proven to her that he didn't need to be a priority.
She said goodbye.
And this hurt more than she thought should be allowed.
He left her there on the pier. Alone.
She was alone, and for the first time in seven months, the rest of the family was not. Her brother was on the verge of getting back to the place he loved to continue his college education and her parents were finally happy again under one roof. This made her feel even more alone. Why was everyone else becoming happier while she sat there crying on a boy that didn't think their relationship was important enough to go to church over?
She launched herself upward and stormed about the parking lot, cursing his name. She worked herself up into quite the rage. She marched over to the bank of shells lining the shore and in one fluid motion, swiped her hand down to pick one up, never stopping her motion, and hurled it into the ocean. It was rage. It was grief. It was unimaginable loss. And yet, it seemed to help. Her arm now sore from the sudden jerking about, she was able to take a deep breath and just take in the scene in front of her.
It wasn't pretty, what was happening to her, but a change indeed was occurring. It didn't mean that she shouldn't be devastated over the loss of yet another important person in her life, but the girl took hope in the fact that everyone around her seemed to be making progress, so why shouldn't she?
The tears now streaming down her face in a weird joyful sadness were being almost immediately dried by the blowing, salty wind off of the Gulf. She let it out right then and there in the harbor parking lot across from McDonald's and the BP gas station. She let out all of the pain from the last seven months that had been needlessly inflicted on her. She let out the separation. She let out the arguments. She let out her brother's rage at her over the most meaningless crap. She let out her boyfriend telling her "it's just not important enough" to go to Church with her. She let out "it's a waste of time."
Screw all of them.
And, at the same time, she missed all of them and wanted them all back.
This was pain. This was realization. This was being fixed. This was progress. This was joy.
This was God.
A lot of things come along unexpected. Grief, in her case, was not one of them. She was used to loss by now, but not of this magnitude. She was not ready to lose her dad emotionally and have him be all but absent for her life. It was not expected that her mother, her strong-willed, playful, hard-working mother, would turn into a shell-shocked traumatic victim who would have to take a week off of work because she couldn't go five minutes without bawling. It was not expected that her parents would separate.
She had always been a very family oriented person, but her tendency to bottle emotions up and turn inward upon herself to cope with situations lead some to believe that she would rather be left alone. When she found out that her parents were splitting up, and, more importantly, that her father was moving out of the house, she couldn't handle.
Her brother was up at college and a little part of her resented him for that. He wasn't there to share in the pain of physically seeing their mother absolutely shut down. She spent countless nights crying both of them to sleep on the couch. Waking up the next day to the lonely realization that they were truly alone together only brought them closer. That's not to say that the mother and daughter didn't see things differently, but for the most part they teamed up and began to blame Dad.
And now tonight, of all nights, she was sitting at the harbor with her boyfriend, pleading with him to "just do this one thing" for her. She was trying to impress upon him how important her faith in God was, and was asking him to come to Church with her the next day. He just didn't get it. How could her boyfriend, who had been with her through everything over the last seven months, not see that the number one priority in her life was God? The fact that he couldn't proven to her that he didn't need to be a priority.
She said goodbye.
And this hurt more than she thought should be allowed.
He left her there on the pier. Alone.
She was alone, and for the first time in seven months, the rest of the family was not. Her brother was on the verge of getting back to the place he loved to continue his college education and her parents were finally happy again under one roof. This made her feel even more alone. Why was everyone else becoming happier while she sat there crying on a boy that didn't think their relationship was important enough to go to church over?
She launched herself upward and stormed about the parking lot, cursing his name. She worked herself up into quite the rage. She marched over to the bank of shells lining the shore and in one fluid motion, swiped her hand down to pick one up, never stopping her motion, and hurled it into the ocean. It was rage. It was grief. It was unimaginable loss. And yet, it seemed to help. Her arm now sore from the sudden jerking about, she was able to take a deep breath and just take in the scene in front of her.
It wasn't pretty, what was happening to her, but a change indeed was occurring. It didn't mean that she shouldn't be devastated over the loss of yet another important person in her life, but the girl took hope in the fact that everyone around her seemed to be making progress, so why shouldn't she?
The tears now streaming down her face in a weird joyful sadness were being almost immediately dried by the blowing, salty wind off of the Gulf. She let it out right then and there in the harbor parking lot across from McDonald's and the BP gas station. She let out all of the pain from the last seven months that had been needlessly inflicted on her. She let out the separation. She let out the arguments. She let out her brother's rage at her over the most meaningless crap. She let out her boyfriend telling her "it's just not important enough" to go to Church with her. She let out "it's a waste of time."
Screw all of them.
And, at the same time, she missed all of them and wanted them all back.
This was pain. This was realization. This was being fixed. This was progress. This was joy.
This was God.
Her Story
She turned off "Letterman" and for a moment was temporarily blind. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she felt around for her robe and walked gingerly out of her bedroom and into the hallway. She stumbled, yawning, down the empty hallway past her daughter's room, and then past her son's room. Both of them were empty, dark, and cold; their inhabitants were gone for the night.
She opened the refrigerator and eyed some Chinese food from the night before, and then convinced herself to stay the course by settling for a cup of yogurt. She closed the fridge with a sigh and a forlorn look on her face. The impact of her situation hit her hardest at night. Her brain was still in high gear but there was nothing stimulating her to focus on anything else, so her thoughts drifted toward the depressive.
Opening the door to invite out the family dog, she noticed a slight chill in the air, and was happy for her warm robe. It was early December and "beginning to look a lot like Christmas" everywhere she went, except for her home. With no one there to decorate for, what was the use?
And owl hooted off in the distance and sharpened her gaze. She caught a shimmer of the bright moon reflecting off of the water and allowed her thoughts to take over. She was taken back to April, when he told her enough was enough and that he didn't want to argue in front of their daughter any more. He said he would make the call to their son who was in college if she would tell their high school senior living 5 feet down the hall. Neither child took it very well.
Neither did she. Nights were bad, but the work days were as well. It was a chore to see people at work, at lunch, or even on TV whom she knew were married. It was silly and self-absorbed, but she couldn't understand how all of these people could smile 24/7 while she was in such emotional pain.
She couldn't sleep in an empty bed. She couldn't cook for three. She couldn't make coffee for one. She couldn't go about daily life knowing that the man she loved had made a conscious choice to be away from her indefinitely. The one or two times a week he did come over, he was distant and cold. He spoke mainly with the kids about their goings-on and didn't want any attention or affection from her, even though she was more than willing to give it.
A squirrel somewhere up in a tree snapped a twig that snapped her back to reality. The emptiness of the house behind her was too big to comprehend. While the kids were only gone for the night on a visit to the son's university for a football game, she felt like everyone she loved was thousands of miles away.
She stood slowly and gazed out over the back yard her children and husband had once run around in with joyful voices and laughs: truly in love. The creak of the screen door was louder than she remembered and echoed throughout the whole of the house. The pat-pat-pat of her bare feet across the wooden floor alerted the dog to her presence. At least she would have a warm body in the bed with her tonight.
The tissue box on her nightstand would be active tonight, as a single, large tear fell from her eyes and to her sheets as she laid down. Turning to face a picture of her family, all together and smiling, she loving stroked the frame and whispered "I miss y'all".
She turned over and curled up into a little ball. Here laid a grown woman, truly afraid and truly alone. Who would hold her as she cried tonight?
She opened the refrigerator and eyed some Chinese food from the night before, and then convinced herself to stay the course by settling for a cup of yogurt. She closed the fridge with a sigh and a forlorn look on her face. The impact of her situation hit her hardest at night. Her brain was still in high gear but there was nothing stimulating her to focus on anything else, so her thoughts drifted toward the depressive.
Opening the door to invite out the family dog, she noticed a slight chill in the air, and was happy for her warm robe. It was early December and "beginning to look a lot like Christmas" everywhere she went, except for her home. With no one there to decorate for, what was the use?
And owl hooted off in the distance and sharpened her gaze. She caught a shimmer of the bright moon reflecting off of the water and allowed her thoughts to take over. She was taken back to April, when he told her enough was enough and that he didn't want to argue in front of their daughter any more. He said he would make the call to their son who was in college if she would tell their high school senior living 5 feet down the hall. Neither child took it very well.
Neither did she. Nights were bad, but the work days were as well. It was a chore to see people at work, at lunch, or even on TV whom she knew were married. It was silly and self-absorbed, but she couldn't understand how all of these people could smile 24/7 while she was in such emotional pain.
She couldn't sleep in an empty bed. She couldn't cook for three. She couldn't make coffee for one. She couldn't go about daily life knowing that the man she loved had made a conscious choice to be away from her indefinitely. The one or two times a week he did come over, he was distant and cold. He spoke mainly with the kids about their goings-on and didn't want any attention or affection from her, even though she was more than willing to give it.
A squirrel somewhere up in a tree snapped a twig that snapped her back to reality. The emptiness of the house behind her was too big to comprehend. While the kids were only gone for the night on a visit to the son's university for a football game, she felt like everyone she loved was thousands of miles away.
She stood slowly and gazed out over the back yard her children and husband had once run around in with joyful voices and laughs: truly in love. The creak of the screen door was louder than she remembered and echoed throughout the whole of the house. The pat-pat-pat of her bare feet across the wooden floor alerted the dog to her presence. At least she would have a warm body in the bed with her tonight.
The tissue box on her nightstand would be active tonight, as a single, large tear fell from her eyes and to her sheets as she laid down. Turning to face a picture of her family, all together and smiling, she loving stroked the frame and whispered "I miss y'all".
She turned over and curled up into a little ball. Here laid a grown woman, truly afraid and truly alone. Who would hold her as she cried tonight?
His Story
Sometimes, you can look outside and know that it is cold. The trees have lost most of their leaves, the sky is gray and distant, the sun leaves a more shallow glow than normal, and everything around just seems....cold.
The middle-aged man driving home from work one evening in December noticed all of these things, and sighed. A book could be written about all of the thoughts and unsaid words that were put into the feelings expressing that sigh. The steering wheel slid effortlessly through his fingers as he pulled into the still unfamiliar apartment complex and parked his Honda coupe for the evening. He wouldn't be going anywhere, and no one would be coming to him. He entered his apartment with these thoughts bouncing around in his head like a grenade dropped into a tank.
TV on the News. Shoes off. Computer on. Routine. No one to talk to, no one to ask how his day was, or to tell him about theirs. Just him and the walls that he called "home". Except really, he didn't. He called it "my apartment". Home. There was no home right now. Home had been invaded by 3 people he used to call his wife and children. Now he called them. Literally. His main contact with his 20 year old son, 17 year old high school senior daughter, and separated-from wife was his cell phone. He now knew what it must be like to have teenager hands. Always grasping for the phone. Noticing when the hands didn't feel the weight of the wireless communication device. Checking it every ten minutes for a text message or missed call from his son, daughter, or wife, whom he loved very dearly: all of them.
It was now 6 pm, and time for dinner. He walked out of the living room and right through the dining room in one step to get to the kitchen. He still knocked various body parts against various kitchen equipment as he got used to the confined spaces. The confined spaces in his apartment, heart, soul, and life. Everything was compartmentalized. Wake. Work. Lunch. More work. Drive. "Home". Sleep. No Church. "Family" when he could.
His phone buzzed in "vibrate" mode on the coffee table a few feet, and rooms, away and he nervously dropped everything to answer. Could this be an invite for dinner? Or the ball game?
"Missed you these last few days. Hope your trip was fun. Come see me. I love you," read the text from his son. A smile instantly grew across his face and he slowly replied "See U tonight".
The separated husband and father then jumped in his car, ready to see his son's smiling face. But he knew that he would still be perceived as an outsider, and treated as a guest by his wife. She tended to his every need, and he knew she was trying to make him want to come back. He couldn't do it. Not tonight. It was too stressful.
He called his wife and told her there was an emergency at work. He had to go in and tend to the night shift (he was head of psychology at mental hospital) and would not be able to "stop by" tonight. He knew his son was just shaking his head at his mom saying "That's ok then, hope to see you tomorrow".
The husband, father, and man trudged inside and laid down on the couch. He started singing songs he had once sung to his children out loud. He hummed the song that he and his wife danced to at their wedding, 23 years ago. The man went into his bedroom with 23 years of memories, and 7 months full of regrets.
He turned to a picture of his family on his bedside and stroked it lovingly.
"I miss y'all," he whispered as a single, giant, wet tear streamed down his face and fell on to his sheets. He rolled over on his mattress - mattress not a bed, and attempted to fall asleep. Alone.
The middle-aged man driving home from work one evening in December noticed all of these things, and sighed. A book could be written about all of the thoughts and unsaid words that were put into the feelings expressing that sigh. The steering wheel slid effortlessly through his fingers as he pulled into the still unfamiliar apartment complex and parked his Honda coupe for the evening. He wouldn't be going anywhere, and no one would be coming to him. He entered his apartment with these thoughts bouncing around in his head like a grenade dropped into a tank.
TV on the News. Shoes off. Computer on. Routine. No one to talk to, no one to ask how his day was, or to tell him about theirs. Just him and the walls that he called "home". Except really, he didn't. He called it "my apartment". Home. There was no home right now. Home had been invaded by 3 people he used to call his wife and children. Now he called them. Literally. His main contact with his 20 year old son, 17 year old high school senior daughter, and separated-from wife was his cell phone. He now knew what it must be like to have teenager hands. Always grasping for the phone. Noticing when the hands didn't feel the weight of the wireless communication device. Checking it every ten minutes for a text message or missed call from his son, daughter, or wife, whom he loved very dearly: all of them.
It was now 6 pm, and time for dinner. He walked out of the living room and right through the dining room in one step to get to the kitchen. He still knocked various body parts against various kitchen equipment as he got used to the confined spaces. The confined spaces in his apartment, heart, soul, and life. Everything was compartmentalized. Wake. Work. Lunch. More work. Drive. "Home". Sleep. No Church. "Family" when he could.
His phone buzzed in "vibrate" mode on the coffee table a few feet, and rooms, away and he nervously dropped everything to answer. Could this be an invite for dinner? Or the ball game?
"Missed you these last few days. Hope your trip was fun. Come see me. I love you," read the text from his son. A smile instantly grew across his face and he slowly replied "See U tonight".
The separated husband and father then jumped in his car, ready to see his son's smiling face. But he knew that he would still be perceived as an outsider, and treated as a guest by his wife. She tended to his every need, and he knew she was trying to make him want to come back. He couldn't do it. Not tonight. It was too stressful.
He called his wife and told her there was an emergency at work. He had to go in and tend to the night shift (he was head of psychology at mental hospital) and would not be able to "stop by" tonight. He knew his son was just shaking his head at his mom saying "That's ok then, hope to see you tomorrow".
The husband, father, and man trudged inside and laid down on the couch. He started singing songs he had once sung to his children out loud. He hummed the song that he and his wife danced to at their wedding, 23 years ago. The man went into his bedroom with 23 years of memories, and 7 months full of regrets.
He turned to a picture of his family on his bedside and stroked it lovingly.
"I miss y'all," he whispered as a single, giant, wet tear streamed down his face and fell on to his sheets. He rolled over on his mattress - mattress not a bed, and attempted to fall asleep. Alone.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Where I am right now
How do I feel right now?
For starters, I’m physically tired. I’ve been working my butt off at the store the last month and it’s wearing on me. I need to get to sleep earlier, but when I get home at 7 each night, there’s so much that I want to do and talk or write about that I end up staying up too late to do it. Today is a welcomed day off, and I was finally able to sleep in for a few hours.
I’m content that my father has moved back in and things seem to be going smoothly between all four of us. I haven’t had any major blow ups with Mom, Dad, or Grace, and the parents seem genuinely happy. I know that there is still work to be done to by all of us to solve some heavy burdens on our hearts, but progress is being made, and for that, I am content.
I am proud of my sister. She recently broke things off with her boyfriend because he refused to come to church with us. He said it wasn’t important to him and that she was making too big of a deal about it. Hearing her talk about why they broke up was saddening to me, but I also saw a light in her, and I know that she is a woman of God. To have the strength and courage to stand by your beliefs at 17 years old and break up with your high school boyfriend because of them is incredibly mature and brave, and I am excited about having her at MSU next year.
I am excited about the coming month’s plans. I’m finally starting to get in the “Christmas spriit” and I want to get my family members something nice, but something meaningful at the same time. I want each gift to the 3 of them to be significant of the help and support they have given me over these past 6 months. I’m also excited about the trip I am taking to Asheville, NC for an Avett Brothers concert at the end of the month. Hopefully, this will coincide with a certain Bulldog football game in Atlanta the next day.
I am apprehensive about going back to school in January. I can’t wait to get back to the place and people I love and miss, but at the same time, I have been away and out of the loop for a solid six months. I hope that I am able to push aside all distractions and make school the priority it has to be in my life for me to stay in Starkville. I also hope that the relationships I value so much will continue to grow and blossom with God. I value my relationship with God and the people He has placed in my life above everything else, and I don’t ever want to lose those people again.
All in all I would say I’m at a good place right now, and it’s only getting better. I’m writing and reading more. I’m planning trips with friends, and planning on getting back to Starkville, MS, in order to study to become a writer.
Things are looking pretty good at the moment.
Praise the Lord.
For starters, I’m physically tired. I’ve been working my butt off at the store the last month and it’s wearing on me. I need to get to sleep earlier, but when I get home at 7 each night, there’s so much that I want to do and talk or write about that I end up staying up too late to do it. Today is a welcomed day off, and I was finally able to sleep in for a few hours.
I’m content that my father has moved back in and things seem to be going smoothly between all four of us. I haven’t had any major blow ups with Mom, Dad, or Grace, and the parents seem genuinely happy. I know that there is still work to be done to by all of us to solve some heavy burdens on our hearts, but progress is being made, and for that, I am content.
I am proud of my sister. She recently broke things off with her boyfriend because he refused to come to church with us. He said it wasn’t important to him and that she was making too big of a deal about it. Hearing her talk about why they broke up was saddening to me, but I also saw a light in her, and I know that she is a woman of God. To have the strength and courage to stand by your beliefs at 17 years old and break up with your high school boyfriend because of them is incredibly mature and brave, and I am excited about having her at MSU next year.
I am excited about the coming month’s plans. I’m finally starting to get in the “Christmas spriit” and I want to get my family members something nice, but something meaningful at the same time. I want each gift to the 3 of them to be significant of the help and support they have given me over these past 6 months. I’m also excited about the trip I am taking to Asheville, NC for an Avett Brothers concert at the end of the month. Hopefully, this will coincide with a certain Bulldog football game in Atlanta the next day.
I am apprehensive about going back to school in January. I can’t wait to get back to the place and people I love and miss, but at the same time, I have been away and out of the loop for a solid six months. I hope that I am able to push aside all distractions and make school the priority it has to be in my life for me to stay in Starkville. I also hope that the relationships I value so much will continue to grow and blossom with God. I value my relationship with God and the people He has placed in my life above everything else, and I don’t ever want to lose those people again.
All in all I would say I’m at a good place right now, and it’s only getting better. I’m writing and reading more. I’m planning trips with friends, and planning on getting back to Starkville, MS, in order to study to become a writer.
Things are looking pretty good at the moment.
Praise the Lord.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
A look my mind's thought process
A Picture of the Mind of a Writer:
A dog sitting on the floor
I was floored by what you said.
What you said hurt me
Ouch
Ouch Charley OUCH
British
Harry Potter
Books
Authors
Writers who sit at a coffee shop table
My future?
Coffee…mmmm
Waking up
Work
Work
Work
Not in Starkville
Home
Bulldawgs, 8-4, football win
Brett Favre Drew Brees
Saints
Superbowl
Saints
Win
Clark, my roommate
Not in Starkville
Depression
Alone
Mom and Dad split up
But now they’re back together!
They lied?
Like the web of a spider
Lies
Spider
Back to the start
Coldplay lyrics
Concert
Avett Brothers concert coming up
Starkville
Clark, my roommate
Brother
Sister
Grace
God’s grace
Church
Youth group, youth minister music
Guitar, concerts
Avett Brothers who are a great acoustic band
Starkville AGAIN
Again again words
Typing on my “new computer”
New because I got a new keyboard and powercord
Expanding thoughts now
Simplicity
Coffee shop simplicity
Dog sitting on the floor
Dog
What is she thinking?
Thinking
Mind
The mind thinks like mine?
Ha rhyming
Wait I missed the loop
Back to the start
A picture of the mind of a writer
A dog sitting on the floor
I was floored by what you said.
What you said hurt me
Ouch
Ouch Charley OUCH
British
Harry Potter
Books
Authors
Writers who sit at a coffee shop table
My future?
Coffee…mmmm
Waking up
Work
Work
Work
Not in Starkville
Home
Bulldawgs, 8-4, football win
Brett Favre Drew Brees
Saints
Superbowl
Saints
Win
Clark, my roommate
Not in Starkville
Depression
Alone
Mom and Dad split up
But now they’re back together!
They lied?
Like the web of a spider
Lies
Spider
Back to the start
Coldplay lyrics
Concert
Avett Brothers concert coming up
Starkville
Clark, my roommate
Brother
Sister
Grace
God’s grace
Church
Youth group, youth minister music
Guitar, concerts
Avett Brothers who are a great acoustic band
Starkville AGAIN
Again again words
Typing on my “new computer”
New because I got a new keyboard and powercord
Expanding thoughts now
Simplicity
Coffee shop simplicity
Dog sitting on the floor
Dog
What is she thinking?
Thinking
Mind
The mind thinks like mine?
Ha rhyming
Wait I missed the loop
Back to the start
A picture of the mind of a writer
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