It’s Like That Sometimes

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about writing. If I could be a writer, what kind of writer would I be?

Some people, when they write, they like to spark up controversy, or conversation, or blog comments, or deep, deep thought.

But if I were a writer, I would want to invoke silence.

Gasping, smiling, and then silence.

But enough about that. It looks as though I will be moving again soon. I was relieved that my dad told my grandpa before I could. I think if I waited until I could say something, I would already be gone.

And so I’ve donated some clothes and I’ve got some boxes in the trunk of my car, as well as a box I’ve started filling in my bedroom. I think it’s making my kitty antsy, because she’ll pace around the box and then look at me, then back at the box again. I think she’s wondering where she fits in all of this. That, or she’s ready for a nap. I know I am.

Do you ever get mentally tired? Like, you just disconnect from those around you. You stop studying or you ignore peoples’ texts or you lay on the bed for no reason at all in the afternoon just to consider. Consider what? Well, nothing in particular. Just consider.

I was telling a co-worker the other day that I had an image in my mind of a waiting room at a doctor’s office. And in that waiting room people are shuffling in and out all the time, but imagine, if you were always there. You were sitting there reading InStyle magazines from 2012 and just watching the people filter in and out. Sometimes there’d be screaming babies with jaundice and sometimes there’d be sweet elderly folks just waiting to talk your ear off. But no matter what, you were always in that room.

Then imagine you were invited on a train. A great, big, beautiful train from like, the movie Anastasia or the third Anne of Green Gables movie. And you had no idea where the train was taking you, and yeah you were still sort of in a waiting room, however

this time you were moving.


Take Two

Majority of people don’t want to fill their RX’s for prescription glasses on Sundays. But if they do, I’m around. And if they don’t, I get to thinking.

What if I really can’t write?

Let’s back up a second. What if all this time, through different seasons of my life, while no matter what I’ve been investing my self in, I’ve always been writing, it turns out that I can’t write for shit? Let’s take another step back.

A recap of the past few years. I’ve counselled, I’ve cashiered, I’ve counted money, I’ve collected insurance information. I’ve played the piano, I’ve painted pictures, I’ve dabbled in make-up artistry and soup cooking and sewing and kissing. But above all, I have written.

And so I ask you.

What if after all is said and done, I just can’t write?

I’m just no good. I’m just not up to it. I’m just not heard.

Well. Take two.


Flying By the Seat

But, where is God?

I was talking to a co-worker a few days ago and I told her that my  ABO exam is fast approaching and if I fail I don’t want it to be because I didn’t ask for help. See, that’s the thing. If I fail this thing because I just don’t get it–that’s cool. But if I don’t pass because I just couldn’t somehow find it in me to ask for help, then I can’t live with that. Why?

I have a tendency to fly by the seat of my pants. It’s kind of how I wound up in optics anyway. It’s how I ended up being a counsellor for girls at Prescott Pines and swimming in lakes and walking tight ropes and dressing like a cow girl.  It’s how I ended up drunk on New Year’s Eve.

Captain Kirk said he didn’t believe in no-win scenarios. My dad says his last line in the series,  regarding his life, and helping star-fleet, was this:

“It was fun.”

I agree. But where is God?

In the midst of all of it, yes I am in the palm of His hand. But where the hell is that? I kind of feel like, that’s what life is, that’s what it comes down to.

See God is always with me, but I want to go where He is.

I don’t believe in no-win scenarios, either.



I went painting with my friend Judy last night and as we were sitting there with our easels and paints and matching aprons and I was listening to the instructor instruct and show us how to create what we were creating, I kind of just stopped.

I just don’t like people telling me what to do.

There’s a re-occurring thought I keep having. I just don’t follow instruction.

And here’s the thing about thoughts. Every action comes from a thought. Whatever it is–it all starts from a thought, right? Because if you never thought it, it would have never happened.

In the movie Inception Cobb says that he planted an idea in his wife’s head that once it was in there, it spread like a poison.

Proverbs 19:20 says, “Hear counsel, and receive instruction, that thou mayest be wise in thy latter end.”


When we were painting last night I realized that no matter how the instructor told us to paint thin lines I could not.

“Hold your paintbrush like a butter knife,”

Yeah, no. I got frustrated. My painting didn’t look like everyone else’s. Sure we were all painting the same damn flower but my lines weren’t thin because they were chunky. Chunky, fat lines.

Am I no less, a child of God, with my thick lines?


Fuel for the Fire

Sometimes I wonder what my fuel for the fire is.

I think most of us like to think we have an idea of who we are, where we’ve come from and where we are going. When I moved out here I think all I knew was I was mommy’s girl and daddy’s girl and there weren’t no changing that.

It’s strange how things have changed. I’m still those things but it’s more than that now. Now, I belong to me. Rather, I belong to the Lord–whether I feel like I do or not. He may be silent sometimes but He’s still omnipresent.

There are times, like now, where I could just scream and cry over all the things that are wrong with the world. Someone once told me truly sad people don’t tell other people they’re sad.

Life is this battle, and it’s not just this conflict of staying positive or letting the man get you down. It’s not five dollar foot-longs really not being five dollars. I think it’s more like, how do I pass the time? That’s where the battle is. What’s my fuel for the fire?

Or, are we just all falling.



It’s funny how one’s life loses utterly all meaning when Netflix has run out of seasons of Parks and Rec to watch.

Well okay, not utterly.

My mind has been in this dead space, for awhile now. Have you ever heard someone say it’s weird how men have this place they can go to in their heads to literally not think of anything? It’s a spot in their mind that’s just zilch. Nada. Totally empty. And in that space the only thing that matters is sub sandwiches and well, sub sandwiches.

I might be a guy.

I’ve been frequenting the dead space a lot lately. And then, something will set me off. Like I have an appointment today at the dealership where I got my car, to get my first car wellness check up. Ok–they don’t call it that, but that’s what I call it. And literally for the last 24 hours I’ve been freakin’ out because I’m like hmmm you know, I was so excited to get this car when I got it that I don’t even remember where the dealership is. Sure sure, I can GPS it on my phone but what if I’m late? What if I turn inside the wrong entrance since there’s two? What if the complimentary first service isn’t all that complimentary after all, and I have to pay for it? But I’m broke and I spent my last $7 on a sandwich (this post is going to use that word a lot) and then after I spent my last $7 I took money out of my savings to buy some MAC makeup because I’ve deemed myself a make-up artist even though no, I have not gone to school for it yet, and living here in SD, I’m not sure I ever will.

And I really want to know. How do you know what God wants for you? How do you know if you’re supposed to stay where you are, or keep moving? Would the future you want be more possible, probable, or likely, if you were with someone else? If you lived somewhere else? Or is it all dependent on you and your childish ways?

On my right I see birthday balloons floating and spinning 180 degrees every few seconds. On my left I have a stack of optician homework I don’t understand.

Next episode, please.