Pep Talk

Self pep talk for an overcast December day:

You don't have any pressing tasks today -- Well, you're at work, but you took care of everything you had to do here, and now, if anything, you have to look like you are doing something productive and important. So quit going over in your head things that need to be done. Biggest thing you got to do when you get home? Wrap a couple of presents. Woahh, someone give that girl a Klondike bar.
Despite your critical looks in the mirror this morning, your eye make-up doesn't make you look stupid. It's not that smeared. You probably could have gone a little more natural and let up on the eye liner, but whatever. Who's looking at your eyes? The Fed-Ex guy doesn't care that you slapped on make-up or that your complexion is a little redder than normal today.
And who says you have to be merry just because it's Christmas? The Muppets and clay-mation characters don't count. It's not a holiday to be used as an excuse to walk on eggshells for other people so that you feel warm and fuzzy inside. You care about people, right? So show them. Do it in the name of the love Christ has filled you with, not in the name of a commercialized occasion.
And He does love you. You hardly have an idea who He is, but the fact that you haven't turned from faith all together speaks volumes. Part of you acknowledges that He is the only means of your recovery. And that's what this is. It's recovery. From an affliction that you have been able to suppress until now. You're in a rehab of sorts, so start acting that way. Let yourself heal.

Now quit blogging to yourself, ya crazy.

Sin and Cosine and going off on a Tangent

Since school has ended, I've been trying to fill my time with productive things, but I enjoy just laying around doing nothing so much more. And I'm finding myself okay with that for the most part. I normally flip out when I don't have anything productive to do, but my brain is on constant overload and really just wants guilt-free down time.
Huh. Guilt-free. I've been so guilt-ridden about things lately and it's making me want to hurl myself off a cliff (figuratively. I have a low pain tolerance). No matter what I do, I feel like I'm not meeting my own standards morally, financially, physically, mentally, what have you. I'm always trying to fix myself. Trying to hold on to inner peace before it slips away again. And my brain is not cooperating.
I even feel guilt sometimes about not being as close to God as I know I should be. But then, how close are we supposed to be to God? I mean, he's God. I guess we aren't always supposed to feel completely on the same wavelength as one who is all-powerful. But he is a personal God, too. So why do I always feel distanced from him?
What I need is prayer. And I don't mean my own intercessory prayers that make me feel as if I'm doing something wrong, or I'm not "praying the right way." There's no wrong way to pray, I get that, but lately I've felt like I've switched to AT&T's prayer line, and I'm sick of the dropped calls.
And then I feel like I'm taking it way too seriously. It's hard to know if you're taking eternity to seriously or not. It's not something you can learn from others who have experienced it about. For obvious reasons.
I guess what I really need is support. Spiritual support (and as long as we are talking about phone companies, I hope it's nothing like T-mobile's support).

So things are up and down and up and down and making me dizzy and sick and crazy and tired... I'm riding the sin and cosine waves, and the domain is (-∞, ∞). Oo, look who learned something in MA 112 this year..
But I kinda jipped that metaphor from It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini, one of the three books I'm trying to read right now. So far it's really really good, though. Can't wait to finish it and watch the movie. And the story line pretty much goes along with what I'm going through.

And now, I still have no clue why I just spilled all of that out in a blog post, but there it is.

Sincerely,

Dani

Sky, Park, Air

Another free form written in church. What a heathen.


The sky hovers like spilled ink
Over the park.
His fingers tease her hand
And she grins.
They sit on the bench for hours,
Talking, planning, laughing,
Until he hears a voice
From behind a tree that whispers
Too low for her ears.
Contrite, he lowers his head
And walks away.
The air tonight numbs and pricks,
but she has nowhere else to go.

The sky burns red like licking flames
Against the park.
Another finds her standing alone
Under the magnolia tree.
Without saying a word
He kisses her long and hard
And she counts herself lucky.
They sit on the bench
For a minute or two when he says,
"Thank God for a girl like you
To make me feel happy,"
But even dogs tire of playthings;
Ennui smolders his passion.
He walks away.
The air this evening is thick
And sticks to her arms and legs,
but she has nowhere else to go.

The sky melts gray with ripe clouds
Against the park.
She clasps her hands together,
Looks out to the river
That cuts through the park,
And lets her eyes trace a single wave.
The air today swallows everything
In a dense fog,
But she has nowhere else to go.

She falls asleep on an iron bench
And wakes to find herself
Warmed by a fleece coat spread
Over her body.
She looks up at humble eyes
That match her curiousity with benevolence.
She knows him.
He sits down next to her
On the bench and says,
"Thank God for a girl of God.
Use me to show her Your love
And her worth."
She rests her head on his chest.
The air this morning is ubiquitous as always,
But she'd never know it.