Grace

Run, devil run, devil run
Devil run...

This morning I woke up with the haze of lost sleep, feeling dragged down by my own thoughts. I felt sort of flat, and anxious about the state of my mind, and things in general. What I wrote last night was still clinging to me. After I wrote all that, I sat back and thought, "Where did all that come from?!" I knew I had just unlocked a door that might have been better off left alone. "Now everyone will know how crazy I really am," I thought.

Run, devil run, devil run
Devil run...

But it's funny, because when I walked out of my house this morning and got in my car I noticed what a beautiful day it was. The sky alone was enough to knock me flat on my back, I can't even describe it. It was a deep, hazy, blueish-gray, and the sun shone up against it and illuminated the morning mist that hung over the trees... The whole morning was so fresh and real and gorgeous that it made my chest hurt just looking at it. I realized by what grace I am allowed to wake up every morning and see scenes like that. Being alive is a blessing in of itself, and I thought perhaps that the answer isn't necessarily knowing the answer but just loving as hard and as well as we know how... And to do this in spite of all that suffering or really because of it. I do believe in grace, and maybe that is a first step towards faith.

As for writing, I'm afraid that is all I know how to do, even when it is uncomfortable. I leave you with this quote on why I do what I do. If I can come even a little close to this, then it is worth it:

"We write to expose the unexposed. If there is one door in the castle you have been told not to go through, you must. Otherwise, you'll just be rearranging furniture in rooms you've already been in. Most humans are dedicated to keeping that one door shut. But the writer's job is to see what's behind it, to see the bleak, unspeakable stuff, and turn the unspeakable into words - not just into any words but if we can, into rhythm and blues."
-Anne Lamott

In conclusion, today was a beautiful day.

Run, devil run, devil run
Devil run...
From the light.

-Jenny Lewis

The Voice

I have inside of me and awful, nagging, sticky, terrible voice and it will not go away. It worms it's way across my thoughts and tells me horrible things in a plausible, persuasive voice. I whispers in my own voice that I am neither very smart nor very beautiful. It tells me that good things will not happen to me, and that I cannot be loved. It tells me that I absolutely cannot write, and that I should give up these piddling attempts and any wishes of greatness because whatever comes out is essentially dog-doo. Even when good things do happen, the voice slides into my brain and says, Oh no, this is too good to be true. It can't be happening, not to you...

I hate the voice, I hate it. It eats at my heart and destroys my faith. But I don't know how to make it go away for good. Temporary exorcisms are all I ever seem to manage. I am waging a constant battle with it, for when I shine light on these thoughts they seem so false and untrue... Yet they won't go away. I can't seem to control this second-guessing, even when I want to. When I pull out these thoughts I find them teeming and ugly and I hate myself. I want things passionately, and instantly borne out of that is fear. What is the answer? I think it might be God, but it's hard to get close to God when one feels so riddled with imperfection. Which is entirely backwards, yet entirely true of me. I know there is a difficult answer that lies somewhere in myself, and not in other people. I know I need to know that the voice is wrong.

Life is so full of broken things. People can't seem to act totally right, or love quite right. And some days you wake up and it just hurts like hell, and you wonder why people who do manage to love each other so well have to suffer. I don't know, I just don't know. I think there is some kind of grace out there. I see it, and I am trying to learn how to accept it. I want faith, I do.

I just read over this, and I am a little scared to post it. It's a little bit like pulling out my insides and putting them on display. But maybe putting this out there is in it's own way an act of faith. Maybe you have that voice too, and reading this will make you feel a little better. That is what I hope.

Love/Hate

I swear, every time I sit down to write something - and it could be anything: an English paper, a story, a letter... - most days when I sit down to write it seems impossible that I'm going to get the words to appear. The magic just is not going to work this time, because I won't be able to think of anything. At all. So I sit at my desk and try to pull my hair out as I mull over whatever it is in frustration, because the blank page is just sitting there and I know I have to fill it up. But with what? And none of this would really be a problem, except for that deadline... it just gets closer and closer.

So, the hair pulling continues and eventually out of sheer desperation I write whatever crap floats to the top of my brain pan, and it is horrible, but then I look at it and think, "Well, there might be something there." Then I clean it up, make it sound smart, and feel relieved to be done if nothing else. I might even feel accomplished and pleased with the result on a good night.

Now, WHY do I love writing so much? Because the process is not nice and neat for anybody (and if it is for you, then I hate you). Really, I love it because no matter how difficult it is, words always spill out eventually, and those moments of "aha!" are so sublime. I love it when after much writing, re-writing, and re-arranging, a piece justs fits together. It's just beautiful.
And as for deadlines, I would get absolutely nothing done without them.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a paper to work on. (Surprise. I am not above procrastination, my friends, as you've just witnessed.) But everyone needs a break from all the hair pulling and teeth gnashing at some point, deadline or no deadline.

More later.

Astonishment

I think that the world may have just rotated right off it's axis this past week. Or maybe it was the lunar eclipse stirring things up. The slightest breeze could knock me down right now. But I can't stop smiling. Also: I am not second guessing myself, which is so... new.
What I really think is that God likes to smack me upside the head once and a while, generally when I least expect it and most need it. "See?" he seems to be saying, "here is what you wanted. And it was right under your nose the whole time."

I can't really explain. But the moral of the story is: good things come from the most unexpected places (and people).

Today is a soggy, soggy day. I like the rain though. It is at the very least good for keeping me inside to write papers. And hopefully not to take accidental naps...

"Don't worry. We'll just go back to Victoria's Secret after Lent."
-Rachel
(Because we are pious girls like that, Rachel and I...)

Free, White, and Nineteen...

That's what Bob said, anyway. If you know my uncle, you'll get it (or not). SO, birthday rundown: it was perfect. The whole weekend was perfect. Now I'm a year older. Wahoo.

Now it's Monday and I'm stuck back with homework, and confusion, an unfinished college application, and unfiled taxes. Did I mention confusion?

Crap. I can't even remember what I'm supposed to be doing anymore.