Anything is better than feeling numb. I used to think otherwise, but I’ve changed my mind.
The most mind shattering, stomach twisting pain is, without a doubt, preferable to feeling nothing. I hate that that is true. I wish with all my might that it would be better—easier—to feel numb. Numb seems as if it would be comfortable.
But it isn’t. Numb is that feeling that you should be feeling something—anything—but the knowledge that you aren’t. Numb feels empty—devoid of life. Dead.
Pain, at least, is an indicator of life. And life is something I crave, right now. I can’t get enough of life, of things that are alive, of things that make me feel alive. I’m awake, at 5:05 in the morning, because sleeping is not alive enough for me, right now. I can’t sleep, because I can’t let myself stop doing.
Doing what, doesn’t matter. I just have to be doing something—other than sleeping. So I’ve been listening to Coldplay and writing, for the past three hours, because that is what, without fail, makes me feel alive and real and solid and okay.
Words don’t remedy pain. I don’t think time does either, though it may soften it. But, for now, words are my comfort. I’m going to take solace in my words. But I’m going to fight numbness with everything I have, even if it hurts like hell.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Trusting God Is Easier When It's Easy
Sometimes, things happen that I don't particularly appreciate. These things make trusting God that much harder, because they feel a bit like he's just pulled an awful prank on me. I'm not laughing.
I was not going to talk about this, because I didn't want questions, but I need to write this out to make sense of what I'm thinking. So you get to learn it all, anyway.
Deborah Reber, the woman whom I mentioned back in October that I was emailing about a memoir, emailed me back last Friday. After four months of hearing nothing from her, I had taken it as a pretty solid "You're not what I was looking for." But then, last Friday, she emailed me out of the blue and told me that she was very impressed with the writing sample I sent her, and would like me to send her a couple journal entries, so that she could see the style the book would take if I were to write it. I, of course, sent her journal entries. She, of course, has not emailed me back. It was almost exciting news.
Before that, a lady came into work and prophesied over me. That is a story in and of itself, but to sum it up, she told me God was going to open doors for me. I saw the paragraph above as a door that was opened, until it was promptly shut in my face, due to Deborah's lack of response. Sure, I might be impatient. Or she might have found someone else.
Also, I landed a job at Waldenbooks this holiday season. As far as non-writing jobs go, this is about as good as it gets. I love working there. God gave me a great job. Problem is, there are about five people competing for the only open non-seasonal position. And, seeing as how I'm not working at all this week, I'm taking that as a hint to start looking for another job.
The awesome part is the fact that my ability to go to school, which is, apparently, really important, rests solely on me having a job to pay for said school. So, essentially, no job means no money for school, which really makes me wonder why I gave that tithe money last Sunday. God might smite me for saying that, but he already got rid of my means of getting through school, and apparently I'm worthless without a degree. So it all works out.
The funny thing about all this is, I'm not that upset. I sound upset, I'm sure. And I am concerned about finding a job, because it's going to be nearly impossible. But something keeps telling me there must be a reason for this. I want to ignore that something, because that would make it a lot easier to just be mad at God and get on with it already. But I'm having a hard time staying mad, which is actually quite frustrating.
On the up side, I now I have a ton of time to work on my story for the PNWA contest in February. But don't tell me that me entering that contest is part of God's plan, because God and I both know I'm not going to finish my book in time for it. It's worth a go, though.
I'm going to bed. Let me know if you know of any jobs in Albany that aren't fast food. Isn't that what I'm going to college to avoid? It would just be too ironic if fast food ended up funding my schooling. Goodnight, and sorry this post was almost as un-insightful as the last. Blame my writing classes for draining all my creativity.
I was not going to talk about this, because I didn't want questions, but I need to write this out to make sense of what I'm thinking. So you get to learn it all, anyway.
Deborah Reber, the woman whom I mentioned back in October that I was emailing about a memoir, emailed me back last Friday. After four months of hearing nothing from her, I had taken it as a pretty solid "You're not what I was looking for." But then, last Friday, she emailed me out of the blue and told me that she was very impressed with the writing sample I sent her, and would like me to send her a couple journal entries, so that she could see the style the book would take if I were to write it. I, of course, sent her journal entries. She, of course, has not emailed me back. It was almost exciting news.
Before that, a lady came into work and prophesied over me. That is a story in and of itself, but to sum it up, she told me God was going to open doors for me. I saw the paragraph above as a door that was opened, until it was promptly shut in my face, due to Deborah's lack of response. Sure, I might be impatient. Or she might have found someone else.
Also, I landed a job at Waldenbooks this holiday season. As far as non-writing jobs go, this is about as good as it gets. I love working there. God gave me a great job. Problem is, there are about five people competing for the only open non-seasonal position. And, seeing as how I'm not working at all this week, I'm taking that as a hint to start looking for another job.
The awesome part is the fact that my ability to go to school, which is, apparently, really important, rests solely on me having a job to pay for said school. So, essentially, no job means no money for school, which really makes me wonder why I gave that tithe money last Sunday. God might smite me for saying that, but he already got rid of my means of getting through school, and apparently I'm worthless without a degree. So it all works out.
The funny thing about all this is, I'm not that upset. I sound upset, I'm sure. And I am concerned about finding a job, because it's going to be nearly impossible. But something keeps telling me there must be a reason for this. I want to ignore that something, because that would make it a lot easier to just be mad at God and get on with it already. But I'm having a hard time staying mad, which is actually quite frustrating.
On the up side, I now I have a ton of time to work on my story for the PNWA contest in February. But don't tell me that me entering that contest is part of God's plan, because God and I both know I'm not going to finish my book in time for it. It's worth a go, though.
I'm going to bed. Let me know if you know of any jobs in Albany that aren't fast food. Isn't that what I'm going to college to avoid? It would just be too ironic if fast food ended up funding my schooling. Goodnight, and sorry this post was almost as un-insightful as the last. Blame my writing classes for draining all my creativity.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
I apologize for snapping at you. I don't apologize for being angry, but I apologize for snapping.
But that's not what this post is about. Actually, this post really isn't about anything. This isn't going to be one of my insightful posts, because I'm just killing time while my dog is outside, because I'm the only one awake, so I have to let her in.
I should be writing (really writing) right now, because I have a twenty page short story due tomorrow that I'm nearly a page and a half into. But I don't have to do it all tonight because I put it off. I honestly sat down several times in the past week to write it out, but nothing came to me. I would like to blame writer's block, but my writing teacher says there is no such thing.
I say that's easy to say when 'literary fiction' genre short stories are your forte. They're not mine. Literary fiction is the good stuff. It has meaning and emotion and metaphors and underlying messages and allusions and all sorts of things that I have to incorporate into my writing that take time and thought and I have to send this story to everyone in my class so that they can critique it and tell me what's wrong with it, which makes me cringe, just thinking about it. I'm kind of shy when it comes to something like that. So I don't quite understand why I decided to be one of the first people to send out their story. I could have been the last. I would have had two and a half months to come up with a story. But I chose the first spot.
Part of me wonders if my impulsive side - the side that signs up for the first spot - has more faith in my writing ability. Because my logical side isn't feeling too confident right now. So then I wonder which side is right, and why there is a discrepancy between the two and I know I'm rambling and have probably lost most of you by now, but I just drank a Rockstar, which always seems to get my writing going (which is why I drank it - like songwriters who write better songs when they're high), but I'm sitting here at the kitchen counter waiting for my monster of a dog to kick at the door because I can't hear her from my room and I can't write literary fiction in my kitchen.
And that was the most horrid sentence I've ever written. I apologize, again. And the lion wants in, so I'm releasing you all. Goodnight.
But that's not what this post is about. Actually, this post really isn't about anything. This isn't going to be one of my insightful posts, because I'm just killing time while my dog is outside, because I'm the only one awake, so I have to let her in.
I should be writing (really writing) right now, because I have a twenty page short story due tomorrow that I'm nearly a page and a half into. But I don't have to do it all tonight because I put it off. I honestly sat down several times in the past week to write it out, but nothing came to me. I would like to blame writer's block, but my writing teacher says there is no such thing.
I say that's easy to say when 'literary fiction' genre short stories are your forte. They're not mine. Literary fiction is the good stuff. It has meaning and emotion and metaphors and underlying messages and allusions and all sorts of things that I have to incorporate into my writing that take time and thought and I have to send this story to everyone in my class so that they can critique it and tell me what's wrong with it, which makes me cringe, just thinking about it. I'm kind of shy when it comes to something like that. So I don't quite understand why I decided to be one of the first people to send out their story. I could have been the last. I would have had two and a half months to come up with a story. But I chose the first spot.
Part of me wonders if my impulsive side - the side that signs up for the first spot - has more faith in my writing ability. Because my logical side isn't feeling too confident right now. So then I wonder which side is right, and why there is a discrepancy between the two and I know I'm rambling and have probably lost most of you by now, but I just drank a Rockstar, which always seems to get my writing going (which is why I drank it - like songwriters who write better songs when they're high), but I'm sitting here at the kitchen counter waiting for my monster of a dog to kick at the door because I can't hear her from my room and I can't write literary fiction in my kitchen.
And that was the most horrid sentence I've ever written. I apologize, again. And the lion wants in, so I'm releasing you all. Goodnight.
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