... sometimes... I wish I could empty my heart's contents for all to see. I wish I could show them what's going on inside of me.

I really want to at times. Maybe then, my mother will understand why I am how I am and not always think that I'm attacking her psychologically again. Maybe then she'll see why I am not touchy feely instead of telling me it is my own fault that I allowed that to fade. Maybe then she'll understand why I am so disgusted with the home they have 'created' for us. Why I am so troubled by their lack of concern for what's happening to us all.

Sometimes I wish I could see what's going on inside of me. Instead of sitting and trying to formulate... *stops and sighs*




Sometimes I just want to scream into the night. Howl at the moon or something just to release.

I am so conflicted... and yet nothing I do matters when it comes to this. I feel so lost. And frustrated.

And alone.

The quest for identity seems to be never ending. I wonder what 'persona' I have formed to those who see me. What do they see? What don't they see?

A perfectionist? A people-pleaser? A goof? A rug? Someone who takes herself too seriously? A detached soul? A stranger?

Today the people-pleaser did not win. In fact, I have most likely caused someone to dislike me greatly. And all on the matter of principle. My principle... I suppose. I am currently on a business trip (I guess is the term). Tomorrow I would return to my hometown, but got asked to help assist at a workshop in another city. Okay, no problem. They should just do the necessary flight arrangements. I was told I would hear Friday. Then on Friday I was told I'd hear Monday. Each time I'd email. Each time I'd ask them to please organize this since I have not yet cancelled my flight back home and I am unwilling to do so until I am 100% certain that I have a ticket to the other city. I am not willing to be stranded. I urged them to let me know before Tuesday, on Monday I emailed again (I probably seemed like such a pest). I got a response assuring me that the responsible person would contact me on the day.

She didn't.

So today, I received an email asking me the questions I should've been asked earlier - flight arrangements. At first I did not respond. I had a choice to make and I couldn't at that point. Then my phone rang (fortunately on silent). I was in the middle of the work I was sent here to take part in. So I ignored it. I got another email - this time sent to all the other people I also bugged throughout - explaining (or complaining rather) how she could not reach me. Seeing as she played her 'let's email everyone card', I replied to all and simply wrote that I can no longer attend. Thank you, but sorry. And left it at that.

In doing so, I probably pissed off the person that gave me the opportunity. And I walked away from good money. But two main things struck in my head. The first thing was that, after three days away from home, I was ready to get back to my cave. The second thing was, I am sick and tired of being humoured, ignored and thrown about for other people's benefit. Yes, I know. Pride. Stupid, stupid pride. But today, at this moment, I do not care. The principle of the matter prevails in my mind... and that's what I'm standing behind.

There's something else I feel the need to rant about. *smirks*

I know I am not someone to talk. That I also have serious worth issues, etc. That I also feel inadequate and useless at times. That I feel out of place. With the exception of this one journal... I don't think I "publicly" decry this feeling of worthlessness. I don't throw it out there for hundreds of people to see and pat me on the head for. So when one of my former/kinda-sorta friends did that... I did a little plunging down her throat. I didn't tell her anything bad about herself. I didn't tell her anything about her doing or saying what she did. I simply told her straight to get her head out of her ass. That she knows whatever happens does not give worth and that most of those arguments are bs.

Now this is actually the standard answer we all give people who have a moment to do the pity party thing. It's the "right" thing to say. The thing was that I didn't bother putting it in the right tone. And in not doing so, it most likely pointed out that I was unimpressed and ready to kick her ass wherever it needed to go for her to stop pitying herself. I haven't heard a word from her since... While I did ask to chat to her... maybe soften the words I spoke so directly. I don't regret them. And I don't feel the need to worry about her quiet.

If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was hormonal. But I'm not. Which means maybe I'm just finally fed up... Meh. Guilt will probably hit me soon enough.

I don't know what's going on with me.

To whom it may concern,

I'm glad I have a place to log my concerns... This blog is not a nice thing to read or anything of the kind. I never look at it myself - except to note when last I ranted and whether I have kept quiet long enough to rant about other things. Can't complain every single day, now can we? It has become the dark closet into which I stuff all the things I do not say to people. It's the place where I lay all the things I bottle up... my release valve. I'm thankful that I have something like it. As pitiful as most of the nonsense that gets dropped here may be, it would've come out in a much worse way otherwise.

With that being said... It's strange not having a confidant anymore. Boetie played that role for the past while up until snotkop's death. Our split in opinion and stance on the parentals broke that freedom. He doesn't share his heart anymore... and I don't share mine. That's four months now... It's not the longest I've been without that function being played within my life... but it does feel strange going without it. But then, I guess I am going about this wrong, for isn't it God to whom I should bring my concerns? Share my sorrows and fears? Hopefully this does turn me more to doing that, than bottling things in even more.

I sometims have the random urge to scream. Like I would just feel like screaming. I never actually do it... but I often wonder whether that wouldn't make me feel better. Probably. I've always had trouble expressing my heart. Maybe that's why singing became such an important part of my life. I didn't need words to express how I feel... just sound. Give me a few notes and I could unlock my heart. As me, and I get stuck. Maybe that's why the screaming thing is so appealing. I was but a child the last time I did it, but in those few moments, it was probably the most honest I have been.

This weekend I discovered another reason for my self-imposed hermithood that wasn't so self-imposed. Part of me is obviously a bit miffed, but that's the rebellious part of me. Another part of me is actually relieved. I need to keep a part of me in a cage. I'm glad that God keeps me away from others if it means that part of me stays locked up. I tremble at the thought of what disaster I will fall into if that thing ever gets free to take me over. There's obviously some shame attached to this. Who would like to admit that there's a part of them craving to be let out that would have no problem being sent straight to hell if it could only be expressed?

It is a rude awakening to be faced with your own sick humanity and realise how lost you are without God.

Despite this, God gave me a fantastic gift. Something I will cherish for a long time to come. In the one moment that I sat there, completely lost, wretched, in unbelievable misery and wondering what is the point of Him keeping His hand over me, He gave me this one moment. This one, solid, blissful moment where I was His instrument. His whole set up was just exactly what I would have needed to catch the clue. So blatant in its execution, it was as if He knocked me upside the head and said "Pay attention, stupid." And I did. For that moment I had a freefall in faith... and it was amazing. I felt like crying for days afterwards... tears of joy. It was such a beautiful thing. I might not look it, but I am grateful.

I know... I know all this is just writing in the sand. I know that the tide's going to wash it away eventually. I just. I needed to tell it, I guess. Even if most of it was cryptic. It doesn't matter. Even if I was fully blatant... it would still just be writing in the sand.

Could just as well make it interesting.

Cheers to the idiots who lay bleeding beneath our feet! *bloody smile* We will join them soon.

Bottoms up!!

I'm sticking my neck out for someone again. Someone who's going to leave me hanging... I just know it.

Why do I keep doing this?

... I have no decent answer. Or no. I do. Just none of them satisfy me at this moment:
 - Because it's the right thing to do (Then why does no one do right by me?)
 - Because the person might come through (The person might get hit by a bus too... probably more likely to have that happen)
 - Because you are in the position to help (I'm in the position to throw myself off a building and you don't see me doing that)
 - Because it means you're of use (What a life when that's the only thing that makes it feel worth something)
 - Because your ass will feel guilty if you didn't (Ding! Ding! Ding! Damn, I hate me)

Okay. Pity party's over for now. Let me go play the game, get my ass kicked and return here for a nice celebratory drink... of water... or tea... cause that's probably the closest nice thing I have in my apartment... except wine which I shouldn't drink when I'm moping and coffee that's not going to make me feel okay when it works out of my body.

*sighs*

I stand at the invisible boundary line and stare at the world beyond me. Far too often, of late, do they actually stare back. They look at me, my appearance... I turn heads. I never used to do that in this country. Interesting what a haircut can do.

I observe them in their element and wonder what it feels like to live in that dynamic. I wonder whether I'll ever really know. Then I remind myself to pull my head out of such thoughts. The only direction they lead is down.

I know this it probably just hormones... and new meds. But I'm so ... I have a lot of emotions I wish I knew how to release. My dreams are plagued with anger and frustration. My jaws hurt in the morning from the evening's gnashing. My gums hate me.

Yet to delve in these things solve nothing. To speak of such simple stupidities only make me feel worse, look weaker and more pathetic. There are no answers. There are no promises. Only disappointment and all the emotions that go along with it.

It's a fool's game. It's all just a fool's game.

It's interesting how much influence a person can exert onto you. Not in a bad way, necessarily. Tonight, I was in no mood to right. On comes a friend "Help, you gotta motivate me to write" and we end up hitting almost 2000 words in an hour. Interesting how the motivation to help someone else always wins my own demotivation to do anything. Sucker for punishment.

I read the first volume of Rising stars. Very, very good stuff. I've never seen Babylon 5 so I can't say whether the creator of that (who is also the creator of this) is really so much a genius as everyone claims he is, but the story is good. Solid.

I've also read a bunch of Powers online. That's also a series I'm planning on collecting. Fantastic stuff. I laugh, I feel bad, I'm amused, I relate even though it's totally different. The style is more comicy... more Dick Tracy bam pow... but it's still so very very good. I love how he sometimes changes formats, you read a comic and it's formatted like a magazine with articles. Then the next one is a tv show... then the next one is just the characters again. Just great stuff.

Part of me feels like having to say more about the other feelings stuff... but most of me doesn't want to. I doubt anything is going to change and besides all the junk that goes along with it, why bother to dwell? Yeah, part of me feels crappy. There. Point made.

Hmm... what else? Oh, Dexter is interesting. I've seen the first couple of episodes of the first season. I had shied away from it due to the blood issue, but I figured, if I can - who has a random fear/discomfort for water - can get myself to put my face towards the shower knob thingy with water running, then I can get myself to watch Dexter with minimum freakage. And so far it's been going well. I'm facinated by the main character and the actor's portrayal of him. There's a bit of a mess up with some stuff regarding his emotion/lack of emotion thing... but meh, still interesting to watch while I'm supposed to be doing Nano.

Dear God;

I don't know all of the challenges my friends have,
but You know EVERYTHING.
I hear their silence;
You hear their pleas.
I see their laughter;
You see their tears.
I see when they give,
You see what's been taken from them.
I see their beautiful appearance;
You see the scars in their soul.
I experience their faith;
You know their doubts.

My prayer for them God, is that YOU give them
everything they may need and bless them abundantly.


Someone sent this to me as a forward. It was surrounded with all things pretty and pink... which made me shudder as I really don't like bright and fluffy... but the words were so powerful, it almost brought me to tears. Which was interesting. I guess with this I can add:

Dear Merciful Father,

Let others hear my silence,
see my laughter,
note an unmarred appearance,
and experience my faith.

Let my heart remain locked,
my hands calm,
my face serene,
and my conscience thus clear.

To whom it may concern,

While I don't really feel I should write about my 'feelings', I do feel the need to document an event that occured. And that involves writing about my feelings.

On the other hand, I don't even want to bother even really going into what happened... but I feel that I should make some kind of mark about it. Just like a mark is unquestionably made on me.

Maybe this earthy canvas my spirit resides in is just that - a marked one. At the end all kinds of hands have made marks on it and not all of them good or uplifting. But there's no denying that, at the end, it means the canvas was in use - however stained it may be. Everyone took a moment to leave their expressions on it.

So this latest mark may well be one of the final real impressions left by the person even though contact - however sporadic - will most likely remain. The mark is made with the best of intentions. The road to hell never looked prettier for it.

Maybe there was just a sensitivity to the spot on the canvas. The mark would not have had such a big impact otherwise.

I guess it's just that I still hoped. I hoped because I wasn't initiating the whole thing, there was more chance for it to succeed because the other party was actually saying 'hey, I want this to be better'.

And then came the conclusion. That over six months worth of back and forth was actually for nothing. Everyone should return to it's previous state. It's all that can be offered.

I didn't know I was taking anything.

So... I'm discouraged and I'm sad. I feel like I've just been dashed against a rock without ever seeing the wave.

But that's actually the irony of it all. I did see the wave. My cynicism made sure of that. I knew. I knew. I knew.

But I didn't want to know. I wanted to hope. I wanted to believe. I wanted...

*sighs*

At least I know the game now. I know my position - off by heart. It leaves no room for emotional heartache. Motivational speaking - on. I can do that. I can do that with my eyes closed.

Which is probably how I will do it. As impassive as I can make my face appear, my eyes always reveals my heart.

Can't have that.

I felt the need to write, so I'm writing on here. Just note to whom it may concern, I'm writing with my eyes closed, so no, my English hasn't become even more sucky. The reason I'm writing like this is that the season has turned from, no so lovely winter into lovely, lovely spring... which is great. Everything is nice and pretty. With spring comes lovely flowes and smells and just lovely stuff. But with those lovely flowers, comes not so lovely pollon and the city I live in has like all the different kinds of pollon and yeah... I've been sneezing my ass off for seven hours straight... I'm heavily drugged and have only now been experiencing a thirty minute reprieve. Let's hope it lasts a while longer.

So I've been experiencing some interesting God-related things of late. Ever since my brother's challenge was issued really. I've also learned some stuff I've never picked up from the Bible before which is also kinda interesting. I could make a huge story out of it but I don't feel like I should. Let's just say that I'm on a journey, I know i'm on a journey, I know I'm moving into some kind of direction for some kind of reason. At this stage I don't know where I'm going, what I'm supposed to learn and how it will be useful. I just know I'm definitely going somewhere. It's a little disconcerting in some ways, but it's okay.

In addition to making my mother cry - as mentioned before - I've also made my grandmother and aunt cry. How did I do that? Well, it turns out my mother made a copy of the short story I showed her and mailed it to my gran who then in turn made my aunt read it. It's actually a really strange thing. It's difficult to explain the lack of enthusiasm we have for our local ...... artsy peeps. There's an ingrained belief that local productions of any form are sub-standard. Where it comes from is unknown and while we do have our local artits that we herald and hail as far as they go, the people who actually make it into that sphere basically got given the world since there are so few people who really make it here. What this means is that, if you actually have some kind of gifting or ability for the arts, you don't really tell anyone that. It's a very secretive thing that'll never go anywhere. It is murmured in the shadows of alcoves and never acknowledged in public even among family members.

So having my mother actually give my writing to my gran is a big thing - even though my gran is the only member of my family that ever read through Flowing Brook. Having my grandmother give it to my aunt is an even bigger thing. For while my aunt knows I can play guitar and have written music in my teenage years (though that has crumbled away as a very distant and somewhat embarrassing memory), my actual prose writing has never been mentioned let alone discussed or displayed. It's a very big, strange thing.

And apparently both ended up crying. I've never seen my aunt cry... my gran does so at a drop of a hat though.

I doubt it'll really be talked about when I go visit my gran, but it is kind of a weird feeling. It's like having my aunt see a picture of me naked from a still unexposing angle... she hasn't really seen anything but she's still seen something. And now we're going to act like she hadn't... or maybe she'll come out and say she did. I don't know what I'm going to say to that. My writing has always been this massive secret... not on purpose, but just because of the cultural thing. So yeah...weird.

I've had a big blank in my head about this year's nanowrimo... I knew who I wanted to write about and a little bit of what, but still very very vague. I finally got two ideas in my head which will assist in at least introducing two of my characters and giving a little of their respective cultural backgrounds. I'm happy that finally came up because I was kinda getting worried about it. I have Elder Scrolls: Oblivion and the book 'The Dwarves' to thank for that. They gave me my ideas. I knew going on a fantasy fest in October was a good idea. Now if only I can hurry up and finish the dwarves so I can delve back into David Weber's fantasy series... and maybe a bit into Tolkien.

I wanted to write more, but I can't think of anything and I'm falling asleep.

Oh, there is one thing I need to mention that's kinda bugging me.

I absolutely hate being right about some things, but what I hate more is having a person realise I'm right after fighting me and, instead of making me wrong by acting on something, they instead back off and drop me like a sack of potatoes - which exactly what makes my prediction 100% correct.

Hmph

I made my mom cry. That is a rare event. And what makes it even rarer is that I didn't even say anything to her. I just did as she told me and had her see the result.

Let me explain. One of my assignments for my Creative Writing subject (which was an UTTER waste since I didn't get any feedback, any new material and paid a helluvalot for a pat on the head... but I did score a massively expensive book from someone... okay so maybe not so much a waste) I had to write a 2 page short story on any of a number of (crappy) topics. One of these topics was a traumatic experience. My mom told me to write about the hospital. When Marius died, she urged me again to write about this whole encounter which - as I have mentioned before - was rather traumatic for both of us if for different reasons.

So I sat and thought about it. A short story being what it is, you have to decide what to tell. I knew that for two pages, I basically would have to go to the thing that struck the hardest. So that's what I wrote about. Marius as I saw him last. I wrote it, sent it off and got 91% for it (without any feedback besides 'very good', 'very good', 'needs a title' hmph!). When I got my feedback mailed to me, my mom asked to read it... and then had a huuuuuuuugggeee cry session.

I did later ask her if the crying meant the writing was good or bad. I got a nod out of her and a muffled good and then she explained that she didn't expect me to take that particular moment. She told me she would want me to write the other bits later. I dunno if I'll ever will.

I posted the short story on FP in hopes that I'll get some feedback for it. Seriously for R 850, I definitely would've expected at least a bit more than 10 words.

- - -

I got blown off... and lied to... and I haven't decided how I'm going to react just yet. Part of me wants to point out the lie, part of me just wants to make a little mental note on the matter.

Agh, heck, does it even matter? I can't decide. People are people and people are dumb, lying things. Just because it's so rare that I'm in a position to get blown off and in a position to realise I'm being lied to, do I really have to feel it's something extraordinary? No, not really.

Meh, it doesn't matter. Just make the mental note and move on.

- - -

I bought Lord of the Rings book(s). I figured that the only way to get myself to read it would be to buy it and guilt trip myself. So far it seems to be working. The only problem is that I'm not SUPPOSED to read it right now. I have 7 other books I bought earlier that I should rightfully be reading before these, plus I'm supposed to help someone with my nano which they are making their nano... which is weird, but anyhoo. PLUS I wanna do some planning on MY nano which seems to be a greater challenge than I previously thought.

PLUS I'm also reading The Postman which is also rather good, if a mellow book that I can only get myself to read at mellow times.

- - -

I think I'm getting Geekson withdrawal... c'mon time, needs to be next month so I can go to my dad and use up all his bandwidth!

As he, rightly, stated. It is the only reason I ever go there.

And for doing laundry.

And to talk to my brother.

But otherwise, he is SO right. Couldn't have put it better.

- - -

My mother thinks I'm a church snob.

Plus, from her talking, I get the feeling she thinks the way I focus on and react towards God and God-things is weird.

I did have a huge chat to her about it. She does understand why I react how I react even though my outward reaction doesn't reflect how I'm react inwardly...  And we struck a nerve which made me shed a few tears - which was AWKWARD. But that doesn't happen a lot so I think we handled it relatively well.

But yeah, she might understand... but she still thinks I'm a snob.

Guess I can't really argue with her when I don't know myself.

/babble

It’s remarkable how time can fly. If I think back, at least six years have gone by where I’ve been in such a remarkably similar frame of mind. Alright, let’s not exaggerate, many things have changed. I have changed. My mind has changed albeit through the wonder of medication. Gotta love those chemicals…

 

But in this one thing, I have stayed the same. The moment I turn to God to converse with Him, I find myself saying, “God… I don’t have the answers. I don’t even know what to ask.”

 

I remember four… five years ago, I was sitting at a home cell meeting. And the leader pulled out the ‘God can’. He said, “Write down any request, any question, anything you want to ask from God and put it in here.” He gave everyone a piece of paper and after some pause, everyone started scribbling. Everyone, except me.

 

Everyone put their thing in the can, I didn’t. And it wasn’t frowned on or anything… there was some understanding that I just didn’t know. I felt so lost… I didn’t even know how to ask for ‘north’ anymore.

 

This has not changed at all. I don’t ask God questions. Not because I don’t want to. What people come to know of me is that I love asking questions. It’s how I get to know people. Not necessarily understand them… but… well yeah, it can just be a fun exercise. So I most certainly would like to ask God some questions, get His perspective on things. Laugh with Him.

 

The problem is, I don’t know what to ask. Where do I start? What can I ask? Some things I just know are naturally out of the question to ask. Like why. Why just isn’t a question that can be answered at this stage. Everything else is pretty fair game though, as far as I know. I just can’t think of anything I want to know… or that I think I can know.

 

So tonight, my mother and I went to church. She’s so bitter and angry still from all the things that have happened. She wants to know why. Why why why why why. It drums through her like her heartbeat. It clouds her judgement, limits her vision on this world and everyone’s existence. It’s not that she doubts that God exists. It’s that she blames Him for everything, to the point where she isn’t reasonable at all in her expectations. She basically prayed that she would die instead of Marius and, since that didn’t happen, she blames God for “taking him away” from her.

 

In my mind… I understand what she’s feeling, but I don’t blame God for illness. I don’t blame Him for what people do or don’t do. I basically see that as within His realm of influence, but outside of… His choice of control… if that makes sense. Yes, He being almighty can change anything and everything as He pleases, but that takes choice from us. So He doesn’t, so things happen, that’s that.

 

Maybe that’s a wrong way of thinking about it. I don’t know. Honestly. I just don’t know.

 

So anyway, we go to church, a dude gives testimony, my mother resents him instantly for being alive while her love isn’t – I did say her vision is clouded – and we go home. An hour after she leaves my apartment, I get a phone call from her. She’s on the attack. “Why did God do this? Why did God take him away from me? Why, why, why…”

 

At least she has questions… something I can’t say I have. I almost envy her that. Her anger is insatiable. My answers fall on deaf ears. My honesty stings her and makes her more bitter, more aggravated towards me. Should I lie to her instead? She wants to say that God put her lover in her life and then God took him away. That God sees us merely as puppets on strings. I argue the point of him being placed in her life by God. Maybe God did. Maybe He didn’t. I don’t think He did. By her logic I can argue, why would God put someone in my mother’s life that alienates her from her children, that steals from them, that pulls her further under into a world of drugs and alcohol?

 

“You never saw anything beyond the negative,” she accuses. I find that funny coming from her. This I point out to her. I tell her that even if God gave her the answer – though I don’t believe that will happen now – she will not accept it in her present state of mind. She wants someone to blame. She wants someone to be angry at, to rail at and He’s the perfect candidate for the position. If she gets her answer, He will not longer be someone she can blame and she doesn’t want that. So she won’t listen in any case.

 

She gave up trying to convince me of her truth or getting the answer out of me.

 

I sit and wonder why she comes to a person who lacks questions let alone answers.

 

-

 

A second person told me how they envy my lifestyle. I am surprised by how much that hurts. They only see the outside. They see a person unaffected by the drama of others (a lie if ever there was one), who, by pulling herself out of the picture, can gaze at it from another perspective and remain calm. It’s the tranquility that lures them. They do not realise the price behind it. The silence, the loneliness, the rejection, the hopelessness. They are fools.

 

But then again, so am I.

 

Maybe it’s because, as I child, I always imagined how someone would pull me out of my solitude. I would get excited about every new school year. I’d pray fervently for God to send new students, new friends, people I could connect with.

 

I can’t say that didn’t happen. New students did come. New friends did cross my path. I did connect with people on different levels. But no one ever came to pull me out. Maybe they weren’t supposed to. I don’t know.

 

Maybe this hermithood isn’t so much about cutting ties with the world as much as accepting that no one’s going to come around to pull me out.

 

-

 

Many who know me, who really know me, treat me as if I have an illness. Like there is a side of me that they see more than anything else that dooms me. It’s in how they approach me, how they look at me, how they react to me.

 

It shames me.

 

Maybe I do have an illness. Again, I have to wonder, as I have so many times before, is the illness infectious? Can I work with others and not pass this thing on? Can I work with others as if I’m not ill? Would I be me or would I be a lie? What if it isn’t that I’m ill? What if it’s just merely me?

 

Okay, so maybe I do have some questions… but it’s only because I’m hormonal. *smirks* Gotta love them womanly stuffs.

 

-

 

One thing I have to say that came to mind during the church thing. We were reading from 1 Corinthians 3:1-4. It was basically the part where Paul tells them how he fed them baby milk and how he should now feed them with something more solid, but they’re still too carnal for it so he has to keep feeding them milk which bothers him.

 

I think a big reason why Christians fall is because all they get is milk. They never develop to the point where they can digest anything other than that. But here’s the question: Is it because they never get stronger or because they never get fed with anything else? And if they can’t find something stronger to digest in the church, where are they going to get it?

 

I’ve seen the hunger of Christian youth first hand for more than the mere Bible stories. They need to be weaned off the milk. Don’t give them rock solid steaks. But give them something more than they’re getting. Something that they’re stomachs can adjust to. Something that can nourish them in a way liquid can’t.

 

-

 

I realized again today that I crave Bible study with people. And by Bible study, I don’t mean topic related only. What I mean is, we get a text, everyone goes and studies it, make notes, examines things, do research, whatever… And then, at a later time, come back and say, “Okay, this is what I got from it.” Yes, topics will then pop up. But Scripture isn’t always just two dimensional. Maybe you get A from it and I get B. Let’s study both, discuss it. But don’t give me something and only talk about A as if B doesn’t exist. If we want to focus on A, then we do so. But let’s see what the text says to us instead of saying something and trying to get the text to back us up.

 

 

God, am I ready for this?

This is not taking on some stray pet. This is a person. Am I ready for a person?

I told my mother that I didn't have the money to fully take care of the young teen. I could feed her and she can sleep here, but that's all that I can afford. I simply do not have the money for anything more. I'm already wondering whether I should start regretting those words.

Maybe the child will go back to her drunken mother and grandparents. Maybe I'll never get that dreaded knock on the door from my mother with the child standing just behind her - bag in hand.

On the other hand... I just couldn't say "well... that's tough" when I have the little capacity that I have. I just wasn't raised that way.

Am I worried? Absolutely. I am SO bloody worried about the future that I'm getting sick from the stress. And that was BEFORE the possibility emerged that the child would come under my roof.

*closes eyes and shakes head*

God.... I can only ask that Your will in all this comes through and if that means housing this child, that you give me the resources to do so. And I know money is just one of them...

If you're think I'm taking it in stride... you'd only be half way right... for at least I'm trying to.

The truth is I'm frustrated, disappointed and horribly, horribly disgusted.

And totally and utterly helpless.

Maybe it is because I haven't had sex yet. Maybe that's why I cannot understand why you would hook up with a man just for that. You don't need a man to satisfy you, if you really think about it... And yes, even that I don't fully know from own experience. But I know enough to find it vile. It's lower than a whore... at least she's getting paid for sleeping with shit. But to make it worse, you choose the biggest sack of garbage. I... I just have no words for that. There is no way in my mind that I can reason it out. I'm just so completely repulsed.

And yet, here I sit with you knowing what I feel even if I haven't even voiced half of my thoughts yet.

I'm just... I'm so disappointed. I really am. I can't even begin to react to what I'm feeling inside me. I don't know what to think.

Then there's this other part of me that's like "you can't be this judgemental. you have to understand"

But I don't want to. For fuck's sake, YOU raised ME and then you fuck around like this? As if it's okay, it's fine, it's understandable. The hell it aint.

Why the hell do you have to swim around with the garbage of this world?

Sewer and sewage, mother. Sewer and sewage.

Eventually you can't tell one from the other.

Yesterday, I discovered geekson.com which is a bunch of dudes doing bi-monthly podcasts on topics geeks would talk about.

Utterly, utterly fantastic to listen to. I'd recommend it for geeks and nerds. I just wish I had more bandwidth so I could download more podcasts at a time.

Who knew a soap dispenser could cause so much havoc? Okay, maybe it's giving the dispenser too much credit. It was merely a catalyst after all, but still. Wow.

So what happened? Well, the bloody thing broke, that's what. It didn't want to do what it was meant for which sent all the women on my floor into a tailspin. The cleaners quickly attempted to come to our rescue by leaving a drinking bottle filled with soap in the ladies restrooms but alas, they forgot to consider one (supposedly) important person.

She who must be obeyed.

My name for her is Grumpy. Everyone knows exactly who I am talking about when I talk about Grumpy.

So Grumpy is about 15 years my senior but one would've at times thought her my junior when it comes to maturity. She can bitch about anything and everything... Like there being a loud 'voice' on the floor (that would be me) which she plans to complain about to my boss... yeah, she's that mature.

In any case, so Grumpy decides that this interim soap dispenser is simply too beneath her standards to do. They simply just have to fix the actual soap dispenser and so she takes the bottle, gives it back to the cleaners and refuses to have it be placed in the ladies restroom.

And so the war began between me and Grumpy.

It ended up in close to a full blown argument right in front of my superior's office. I could just imagine him staring through the open door with a bemused expression on his face. The woman decided that attacking my 'attitude' would win the argument... instead she skulked away claiming I was not listening to her point so there's no point 'discussing' the matter further. *shakes head*

What really baffles me... and really it does... is how someone can be so controlling and rediculous at the same time. It angered me to such a point that I was actually shaking and managed to get some hot chocolate from a colleague so as to calm down.

In the end, the fight was most certainly worth it. The Battle of the Soap Dispenser was a victory for all women who didn't give a damn in what container the soap was in so long as they could wash their bloody hands with something more than just water.

But the great war has only begun. Oh yes, it has only just begun...

I hate to admit it, but I'm disappointed. I shouldn't be by now. I should be used to these kinds of things.

It's just that... *ponders* it always has a reasonable argument behind it. Every situation is 'different' or 'unlikely' to have a similar result. What I don't seem to - or want to - acknowledge is that it's not different because with every situation there's a human being in the mix. Why then would the matter turn out any different?

And yet, every time I still hope. Fool.

I can definitely say that last night was probably as strange an experience as I've had so far... but I'm glad to say it wasn't unsafe. Which works for me. I walked in a world I'm not familiar to... I don't think I'd ever become familiar to it, but being granted the opportunity to have a look is something I'm sure I'll later end up grateful for. For now... I have a lot of thoughts in my head and my heart. I figure God will eventually help me sort them out. At this stage though, I've contained the churning storm within the chambers of my being where I hope it'll once again ebb away into almost transparent nothingness.

- - -

It was my mom's birthday on Friday. She wasn't up to celebrating so we arranged that I give her boetie's gift on the Saturday. I wanted to do something nice for her without going completely wild with throwing money around. I'm not a partier and as much as I'd like to accomodate her, it's not like I can get over myself and throw a helluva bash... we'd have very view people to invite anyway. While not a hermit, she too possesses the inability to really connect with people. Unlike me though, she has a vivaciousness that attracts the world to her - she just hasn't realised it yet.

So I cooked dinner. A boerekos thing that I absolutely love and know how to make. She brought along her gay-friend - whom we'll call Madam even if she's not female - and I invited a lesbian friend of mine. The meal went really well, my mom loved her present - a hookah - and we immediately set it up outside for her. I don't smoke at all, but I absolutely love the smell of the tabacco. My chest never knows what to make of hookah smoke, but I don't want to risk finding out. So while we were sitting outside, the four of us finished one bottle of wine. My lesbian friend then had to go since she had a clubbing date with other friends. The three of us finished the second bottle.

It was decided to go to ... well it's not a club but it's not much of a pub either. In any case, it's a ... venue... where some friends of Madam were playing. We sat there for about an hour and then Madam decided we needed to go to Aqua. My mother wasn't sure. She didn't mind going but she was afraid that I'd freak out since it's definitely not my scene. I figured I was in the safest company I could possibly be in. I was sobering up - I never drink outside of my home and so had switched to cooldrink - and didn't feel like I would be doing anything stupid that evening. So we went.

Aqua is a popular local gay club... where many straight people go to as well. I think freedom the gays feel in a venue completely their own rubs off (no pun intended) on the straighties. Lian had always wanted to take me there but I never felt safe to go with him. I would want someone to keep an eye on me right through and he'd most likely have gotten so trashed that he'd have pushed me into trouble instead of keeping me out of it. Whenever we moved from one part to another of the club - regardless the reason - either mom or Madam would lead me by the hand. It is surprising what a calming effect hand contact has.

Madam led us to the dance floor. Now anyone who knows and remembers my name would also know I don't really dance. I'm very inhibited - to say the least. Madam didn't give a damn. He talked to me, watch me, take my hand the moment my insecurities kicked in, grab me and sway me with him. It was impossible not to loosen up a bit around him. My mom led me off the floor to get some drinks for the group - again taking me by the hand. "I look really butch right now," my mom piped as she dragged my arm (and me) through the crowd. I didn't care how we looked as long as she didn't break contact with me. I again stayed with the non-alcoholic stuffs while my mom got them beer. I liked doing people watching now that my head was clear. Of course Madam also liked people watching and would point out whoever he thought was worth watching... these usually either didn't have shirts on or their pants were too tight.

At some point, Madam jumped up and grabbed me by the hand. "We're going to go pearl," he said to my mother and pulled me through the throng to the toilets. We got into the cubicle together and while he relieved his bladder I stood thinking of my current position. Standing in a bathroom cubicle with a man... in a club where going to a cubicle together wasn't always to go "pearl". It was when we walked out, that I spotted my lesbian friend looking at me as if her eyes were going to pop out of her sockets. "What the fuck are you doing here?!" she demanded to which I only pointed to Madam and replied, "It's his fault." She was quick to give him a tight hug. Fader.

She wasn't the only one in the club whom I knew... but the only one I care to. Some other dude also saw me leaving the cubicle with a considerably older man... and he has the habit of always coming to the worst conclusions. He quickly grabbed my arm, trying to pull me to him to tell him what was going on. I merely pulled my arm away from him, gave him the best Rhea look I could give him without him feeling important enough to get looked at and walked after Madam. I needed to have my hand in his before we got to the crowd.

In the early morning hours, I told my mom to pull the "mommy thing" and tell Madam that she needs to take her little girl home. By that stage I've had my fill of this other world. He understood, giving me a smiling glance. I'm innocent, poor thing. I was just too bloody happy to go home. My bed was calling.

To the world, she says: "I don't know what I would've done without her."

To me, she says: "You're 25. What the fuck do you know?"