Nothing serious at all, it's just a bit of sillyness, really.

Usually I get angry-truly angry-about once or twice a year. Maybe three times, but that's rare. And when something does finally push me over the edge, the key is to LEAVE ME ALONE! Last year it was a well-aimed snowball that was my undoing. When it was all over, an innocent hockey stick was split in two over a goalpost, basketballs and volleyballs abused, and my hand bruised against a stud-inforced wall. And...today it was being denied access to a video game. How stupid I am. How utterly stupid.

Tonight I have a very, very short fuse.

I am very much looking forward to the break...

Mower Shed

it is quiet there--
because you're with God.
i don't mean you can't hear anything
like the stillness of tears when nothing else matters-
it is quiet there.

A whistle as the wind pierces
rotting wood walls
Rasing the hair of our forearms
a shiver, but not of cold
The smell of work hangs heavy
oil and gasoline
grass and grease
We are talking, but not to each other
Words ride the quiet
and disappear
Water pours from the sky
runs off the roof
and pools among the gravel.
Bones are cold
beaneath our layers
Heavy breathing fills the shed with fog
Our machines are outside
waiting for us
A day of work
waits for us
It is quiet there-
because God is there.
I push the door open
step into falling water
I am soaked in three steps.
Hair clinging to my face
as I push out toward the lawns.
They all say we have the worst job
But we are the most happy.

God's Eyes

Seventy thousand miles from nowhere so am I somewhere? I FORGET EVERYTHING!!! I forgot to call, forgot to go, forgot to send, forgot to do, forgot to remember, forgot to love, forgot to forget. What is wrong? Write it down, I guess. Maybe I'm not cut out to be a writer. Remember what you say? Everyone is a writer, just not everyone writes. Maybe...I wonder why I don't feel like pleasing God, but I haven't spent time with him for so long. Forgotten. Forgotten how to climb into His lap. Forgotten the pattern of his hands. His laugh, my straining ears can't hear it. Those warm eyes that surround me and tell me everything I need. How I miss those eyes. They change color: a green that makes me feel such peace, a brilliant blue, an earthy brown, grey, orange, and purple. Navy, white, and a color without a name. It's this color that I love the most. Have you ever tried to describe a color to a blind person? I haven't, but I wouldn't know how. The color without a name, it's like the spray from a speedboat as I race across the ocean. It's the first snow of winter, the letter in my mailbox, and the quiet fog on my walk. It's as slow as September but as exciting as July. It's a warmth building in my chest and I want to burst into a thousand rays of joy, to smile the biggest smile, to run to the closest friend and hug them forever. It's the magnifying glass that shows me the details-the moving grass, the gentle presence of everything. It's the hearing aid to tell me about the silence. Take your best memory, the one you hold onto when everything around you wants to give up-the one that you think of at least once a day-this color is that.

How? How do I get back? I've washed ashore somewhere that looks vaguley familiar, but somehow isn't quite right. It's a little embarassing...Almost humiliating to find myself near drowned. There's not much left of me-matted hair, torn clothes, a left shoe. Somewhere I want to keep swimming in that puddle-to let it all sweep me away to wherever it goes, if only just to see. But I can't. Because I remember that color. That color I can't name. That color I can't forget.

Oatmeal

Today's Creative Writing Freewrite (11.05am):

I wonder, am I supposed to feel totally lost? I feel like oatmeal that is too hot to eat, and the idiot that made it didn't add enough water or milk leaving it bubbly and dry. It's an ugly thing: dry, overcooked oatmeal. Unwanted but forced anyway because no one likes to waste food. And even if it is eaten, the bowl will sit on the counter because that crusty, semi-burned oat crap on the sides is such a pain to clean up. I fell really, really-I don't even know. Is it sad? I don't think so, there's no tears to send falling, not angry-I haven't been angry in awhile. The girl thing? God, I hope not. I would like to be happy with my morning coffee, the chocolate soy milk I'll buy for lunch. Everything is a jumble and I don't know why I do anything. Why did I wear this shirt today? I'm not sure I like it-I wore it anyway. I'm so stupid sometimes. I would like a cigar. That would be nice. Maybe I'm jealous-maybe I'm insecure. Maybe today I don't care-and quite possibly that's the worst of all. I do care-who am I convincing? Mad World. I've heard that everybody has these days. Everybody. Then why does it seem that I have them so much more? And even as I ask, I feel that familiar answer crawling up the back of my neck. I'm fighting it. Why? Almost as if I want to sit in the shadows for awhile. But I don't. Really-I don't. Because of those words, "I love you. I want you. Sit with me awhile, let me love you." They ring in my ears and give me goosebumps. Fear is paralyzing, and I can't move my feet. Afraid to lose what I treasure most, terror showing me visions of ships sailing away leaving me to reach out and grab onto nothing. Where does it all come from? I'm not sure. Later, I'll wake up to find my treasure still here, still around me, still loving me. Someone left the oatmeal in too long.

Ivory

One day, I think I'll ask God about today. It was just one of those...

I really, really, really need a piano right now...

Child

Before the nightmare in my head
You were there
When the nights only felt dark and alone
I looked for You

The warm breeze of August reminds me of You
And I smile
When I look out my window to the reflecting sun
I see You

Always I cry for Your return to this place
But You never left
So I want to climb into Your lap
And love You