crucible

So uh, here I am. I've vowed to make a real journal entry tonight, my first since oh, Monday. It's felt a bit redundant to journal because I've been seeing everyone I've ever known so much, it's like what more can I say? I run out of words. Consequently I end up just pasting things in. Good things, no doubt, but not the meat I always intend to write here. I feel frustrated because it's like writing should help or something but the most I often do is draw outlines on the tear spots in my paper. That, I suppose, is enough. I just... my head is so full and so random, I say anything but the word or the sentence or line that is this week. I want to sum it, to write its fullness, and I am just incapable. I have written it on my friends, I have spoken it in silences in the noisiest conversations, and wept it all over my cracked, raw cheeks but have not said it. What is it? I want to reply when people ask how I'm doing with it. I want to request they pray for it. Maybe "it" is the Plan (not that one Graham), the Plan that has been marching on this whole time, the one none of us can see but we all know exists. It's not as if that knowledge (or even its details) makes death one iota less sucky, but golly it should would be nice to know.

Do I see God in all of this? maybe all along
It's just that we're so small, and simply not as strong

( read on for more, and the poem I read )

when I awoke

I woke up half-dreaming I was still at mcs being with people. It took 10 minutes for me to accept that I was indeed alone, with nobody to distract or comfort me. Not a good way to start the next week. I'm so petrified of silence....

it must look strange

I have the weirdest nervous tics now, have had since sunday in fact. I've been fidgeting with this sharpie all day. I'm always drumming on something, gripping something, or just feeling my hands, stroking my chin, something. I see myself doing it and go, "why are you doing that"? And I can't stop, really. I just focus in closer on it and it quickly becomes obsessive. I have to focus os something else and my hands just keep spinning that pen around.
It's only weird because I just don't do things like that. I'm a very calm person. Right?!? Oh yeah... I'm no longer who I was.


I feel God taking my bricks away and building me with His steel beams. It's exactly what I want. I want to come out of this 6 months, 10 months, 20 years from now and say that day changed me. It made me who I am. Clearly God has seen fit to deconstruct everything I thought was me, so I've decided to let him rebuild it as well, coz damn. I'm in NO shape to be swinging my big bad identity shit around. It's just not my place. And this is big for me because it's not an attitude I've ever employed. And I feel I must employ it because if I do not I will not be rebuilt stronger but weaker. I looked outside today and saw that it was raining. It occured to me that as hollow as I've felt, I couldn't really classify this as depression (which I've always associated with rain) . But I see how easily someone could get trapped in it. When you think about it, I've got nothing. No bright hope for tomorrow. But I'm also very rich, and God's never allowed me to lose sight of that.
I just hope I can keep my head up.