I Don't Want to Post
Before I go into a lengthy grumble about my present life I'd like to bring up a dear friend of mine, Heidi. She's going through a lot of really hard stuff with her parents and her health at the moment. She's currently having to work through the possibility of having M.E., the same disease as me. If you pray at all for me, then please pray for her. I feel she could really use a lot of extra prayer covering at the moment.
Talking with Heidi lately has brought up a lot of painful memories of the emotions I went through early last year. The last few days I've been trying, line after line, to articulate what all these feelings were like, but it's as if I'm so overwhelmed with a whole different set of emotions right now that my internal word processor can't process or organize the thoughts into readable metaphors.
Right now I'm feeling very, very confused and very, very lost. I'm battling a whole heap of normal day emotions that I can't seem to disengage from my currently messed up M.E. hormonal ones.
When I'm upset I strike out, hurt the people closest to me emotionally, suddenly see all my blessings and end up overidden with guilt. This once sparked a good thing, the writing of my poem I Saw... One day, however, I'm certain my muse is going to abandon me and I'll end up writing a guilt-induced song as odd as Rich Mullin's Screendoor.
"It's about as useless as a screendoor on a submarine
faith without words, baby, it just ain't happening
one is your right hand, one is your left
it takes two strong arms for you to hold on tight
some will cut off their nose just to spite their face
well, I think you need some works to show you're not a fake."
I remember last time I got like this I started collecting toilet paper samples. I'm serious. I started this "collumn" in my pen and ink journal titled Simple Pleasures. Whenever I came across a cool roll of toilet paper I liked I teared off a square and glued it in my journal. I have a few that still make me smile: one from my grandparents house featuring cute pictures of a little dog, and another from Rachel's place covered in purple flowers (it still smells of lavender).
I haven't found myself stealing toilet paper squares for years but now, in it's place, I find myself writing about things that embarrass me no end just so I'll have something to laugh over when I'm eighty.
Do other people do stuff like this--or am I just strangely morbib?
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