Try Again
It's a little past midnight.
I feel restless, anxious, excited, hopeful, contemplative, and a few other things.
I don't know how people can ever just be "Goodhowareyou?" How can they even tolerate it from themselves? I guess they've just given up their souls — or at least some pivotal part of their souls.
My back still hurts often enough. I've been meaning to go to the doctor.
Somehow, I feel like I have no time. I feel suffocated sometimes. Obviously, I don't use my time especially well. I think I'm afraid of freedom somehow. I'm pretty sure I fear that it just won't work: I fear that, if I attempt freedom, I'll just fall flat on my face. I'll just get burned by the faltering illusion of freedom.
For some reason, Jonah breaks my heart. I don't know why. I want to protect him. I want to see him thrive. He's so small and so fragile - despite the fact that he's wild and durable. I don't want to see him hurt.
Maybe I just don't want to hurt anymore. That's probably it because tears are welling up in my eyes now. What's hurting me? Why am I hurting? I don't know, and I don't know how to find it. I haven't been feeling suicidal, but something hurts somewhere deep down. I don't know what it is; I really wish I did. I don't know what to say besides that it hurts very deeply. What is it? Where is it?
I don't know.
I'm afraid to write. I'm afraid to go out. I play Knights & Dragons. I don't think the game itself is a problem at all. The problem is that I feel as though it's one of the few things in my life that is working. Is it that I want control? Obviously, there's always a predilection toward wanting control. However, is desire for control a pivot, or is it merely one more peripheral factor that muddles up the whole mess.
And what in the world is hurting? The tears are gone for now, but I know that the wound(s) still linger(s) somewhere.
Strangely enough, I do have this faint feeling of freedom. I want to dare. I want to trust. Is it worth it?
"He hears but not like we want Him to:/We want Him to hear without giving our hearts."
I wrote that in my poem called Alter My Eyes.
"I admit that I hesitated with my heart too,/But He is good; it is only grace that He imparts."
I admit that I still hesitate with my heart.
I want to dare. I want to trust. Is it worth it? I am so meticulous and so exact. I am so thorough and so full of conviction. Shouldn't I be doing something better?
I read a pathetic quotation today on the back of a t-shirt. I forget the exact wording, but the basic premise was this: skills/abilities are Gods gift to us; employing them is our gift to ourselves.
That right there is an inane falsehood.
First of all, the t-shirt had the word "utilizing," and I am tired of ignoramuses slapping that poor word around carelessly. I'll rant more about that later.
The main point, however, is that employing our skills is our gift to God — not to ourselves. It is very much like tithing: God gives us 100%, and all that He asks in return is 10%. Likewise, God gives us skills and abilities (I still have no idea what the difference is, but people are always pairing them as if they're different) alongside absolving us of our sin, and all that He asks in return is that we be living sacrifices: "to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."
Utilize: originally, it was supposed to mean using something beyond its natural purpose. For example, I merely use a hammer to hammer nails; however, I utilize a hammer to prop open a window. In general, no one utilizes; people are not that creative. Hence, people throw around the word "utilize." Since they are not very creative and have very limited vocabularies (and, often enough, very limited intelligence), they need to fake intelligence whenever they can.
It's nauseating.
I never, ever despise stupidity in the least. I passionately loathe fake intelligence.
Don't be fake; please don't do it.
Regrettably, "utilize" is now merely defined as "make practical and effective use of." That's not appallingly undignified, but how would you feel if the highest you rose was to not appallingly undignified?
It is here that my fear resurfaces: is that my destiny? Am I to become not appallingly undignified? If that is His will, I cannot object. That is the disheartening assumption I carry more often than not: that my story will be about the guy who was jobless longer than expected but didn't screw up too much more besides that.
I am a son of God. I don't know the extent of that reality — not very much anyway. I feel trapped, though, and almost glad of it: I'm tired of crashing my heart against closed doors of failure. That's how it all feels anyway. I've been trying to choose joy and move forward. Yoda is very wrong by the way: if there were no try, I would have done a lot less.
" "I'll try again tomorrow" is/The bravest thing I have./With stifled notes, my heart cries out/For lasting, piercing salve."
I feel restless, anxious, excited, hopeful, contemplative, and a few other things.
I don't know how people can ever just be "Goodhowareyou?" How can they even tolerate it from themselves? I guess they've just given up their souls — or at least some pivotal part of their souls.
My back still hurts often enough. I've been meaning to go to the doctor.
Somehow, I feel like I have no time. I feel suffocated sometimes. Obviously, I don't use my time especially well. I think I'm afraid of freedom somehow. I'm pretty sure I fear that it just won't work: I fear that, if I attempt freedom, I'll just fall flat on my face. I'll just get burned by the faltering illusion of freedom.
For some reason, Jonah breaks my heart. I don't know why. I want to protect him. I want to see him thrive. He's so small and so fragile - despite the fact that he's wild and durable. I don't want to see him hurt.
Maybe I just don't want to hurt anymore. That's probably it because tears are welling up in my eyes now. What's hurting me? Why am I hurting? I don't know, and I don't know how to find it. I haven't been feeling suicidal, but something hurts somewhere deep down. I don't know what it is; I really wish I did. I don't know what to say besides that it hurts very deeply. What is it? Where is it?
I don't know.
I'm afraid to write. I'm afraid to go out. I play Knights & Dragons. I don't think the game itself is a problem at all. The problem is that I feel as though it's one of the few things in my life that is working. Is it that I want control? Obviously, there's always a predilection toward wanting control. However, is desire for control a pivot, or is it merely one more peripheral factor that muddles up the whole mess.
And what in the world is hurting? The tears are gone for now, but I know that the wound(s) still linger(s) somewhere.
Strangely enough, I do have this faint feeling of freedom. I want to dare. I want to trust. Is it worth it?
"He hears but not like we want Him to:/We want Him to hear without giving our hearts."
I wrote that in my poem called Alter My Eyes.
"I admit that I hesitated with my heart too,/But He is good; it is only grace that He imparts."
I admit that I still hesitate with my heart.
I want to dare. I want to trust. Is it worth it? I am so meticulous and so exact. I am so thorough and so full of conviction. Shouldn't I be doing something better?
I read a pathetic quotation today on the back of a t-shirt. I forget the exact wording, but the basic premise was this: skills/abilities are Gods gift to us; employing them is our gift to ourselves.
That right there is an inane falsehood.
First of all, the t-shirt had the word "utilizing," and I am tired of ignoramuses slapping that poor word around carelessly. I'll rant more about that later.
The main point, however, is that employing our skills is our gift to God — not to ourselves. It is very much like tithing: God gives us 100%, and all that He asks in return is 10%. Likewise, God gives us skills and abilities (I still have no idea what the difference is, but people are always pairing them as if they're different) alongside absolving us of our sin, and all that He asks in return is that we be living sacrifices: "to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God."
Utilize: originally, it was supposed to mean using something beyond its natural purpose. For example, I merely use a hammer to hammer nails; however, I utilize a hammer to prop open a window. In general, no one utilizes; people are not that creative. Hence, people throw around the word "utilize." Since they are not very creative and have very limited vocabularies (and, often enough, very limited intelligence), they need to fake intelligence whenever they can.
It's nauseating.
I never, ever despise stupidity in the least. I passionately loathe fake intelligence.
Don't be fake; please don't do it.
Regrettably, "utilize" is now merely defined as "make practical and effective use of." That's not appallingly undignified, but how would you feel if the highest you rose was to not appallingly undignified?
It is here that my fear resurfaces: is that my destiny? Am I to become not appallingly undignified? If that is His will, I cannot object. That is the disheartening assumption I carry more often than not: that my story will be about the guy who was jobless longer than expected but didn't screw up too much more besides that.
I am a son of God. I don't know the extent of that reality — not very much anyway. I feel trapped, though, and almost glad of it: I'm tired of crashing my heart against closed doors of failure. That's how it all feels anyway. I've been trying to choose joy and move forward. Yoda is very wrong by the way: if there were no try, I would have done a lot less.
" "I'll try again tomorrow" is/The bravest thing I have./With stifled notes, my heart cries out/For lasting, piercing salve."
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