lie down.

lost a lot of sleep. 

finished my verbatim, passed a test, and added to discussion about the case study. 

called. 

went for a run. 

deposited a check. 

let you drive me home. 

showered, shaved, and took the paint off my nails. 

listened and sang. 

made dinner and read. 

i am at a loss. 

i forgot how to spend a night off. 

i am really trying. 

beyond this noise, beyond those cars. beyond this door, beyond this heart. beyond those trees, beyond this comfort

let us have eyes that we may see, Lord. 

bad day.

my God, my God. 

I was unshaken, I was unbroken with resistance. 

I wanted a new set of rules to follow, principles and regulations. 

yet, You knew I could not find beauty in the law. 

I could not find purity and love in limitations and sacrifices outside myself. 

for You taught me of my freedom, from righteousness and life.

my freedom from holiness, redemption, and forgiveness. 

and the new law You imparted is not one I easily comprehend. 

so I cease my resisting and answer in my listening. 

Lord, beyond my understanding, bind my wandering heart to Thee. 

pros.

my roommates informed me tonight that pregnancy in my situation would lead to tax credits and financial aid. 

really all i want to do is move. 

p.

i drove home from a wedding today alone in the car for a number of hours. after drinking far too much tea at the reception and then diet coke on the road, i ran into a predicament. 

not that there was only one stop on the entire highway that i had long passed an hour ago, but that when one chooses to make such a short stop on the side of the road, one is destined to litter. one cannot possibly take such tissue with them, for sanitation sake. and drip-drying is clearly less sanitary. 

therefore i must confess, today for the first time that i can recall in my entire life, i littered. i do apologize. 

long live the earth. 

memoir

i sometimes wish that c.s. lewis were still around to write book critiques. 

rjw.

don't let your soul get lonely child

it's only time, it will go by

don't look for love in faces, places

it's in you, that's where you'll find kindness. 

there is a new addition to my wall. as of now the only addition. i hung a map from here to there. 

and the sandals that cut my feet remind me of the job where humble looms oh so close to humiliate. a real "jesus job" he called it. and looking back over the course of such a short summer, such a long lesson, i wonder why there is but one verse that speaks of Jesus weeping. his compassion, the merciful compassion that redeems someone as shameful as me, cannot live with company as he did and not cry. 

the 80s were a bad idea.

to the one or potentially two (that's some hopeful thinking) people who read this, 

something to appreciate:

i am typing this post on a mac. a new mac. mymac. 

so i am setting my alarm now and hoping your night is as great as mine has been. i am not drunk. i am in love. 

p is for party

i got a new apartment with new roommates.
i got a new job.
i got a new pair of jeans.



with this new apartment, i received new keys, a parking pass, and appliances that make odd noises, but only when turned on.
with these new roommates, i received encouragement notes, triple the hair care products, and fewer corresponding values.
with this new job i received a new hat, a new nametag, and was asked to invest in the preppiest wardrobe of my life.
with this new pair of jeans...i received a compliment.

this fellowship is not surface.
this commonality is more real
than my human reality.

to have all things in common would not be my aim,
but yet to have something so eternal in both of our beings is a profound finding, a shared resurrection. and that all things may come from this newness of life, overcoming the idolatry of self and the seduction of satisfaction through the temporary...

koinonia

bbq

The case manager quit, the director is on maternity leave, and I am running the office.
I have been left with keys in hand to ensure these homeless become homed.

f is for fire.

on friday, we turned the clocks ahead in the office, convinced everyone that their phones were wrong, and left an hour early for the landing where the water tasted much better than the beer.

saturday: give life, give blood. on the way, i saw some speeding jerk hit a baby deer running across the road. i called the missouri conservation department but they couldn't really understand me-i was crying too much.

saturday night: my parents started arguing in front of me and now they won't stop. i don't know how to tell them that it sucks.

on sunday, i laid out too long, burnt a little, pretended to be very girly, and then dropped the girls for the boys. we built six- and eight-pipe sets for fireworks, golfed on the wii, and made awful strawberry milkshakes. top that, fake-finger-nail-girly-movie-sangria-shoppers.

by the way,
i dropped a pint without a blink.
and the baby deer was adorable, tiny, and all in one piece-just terrified after its near-death experience.

AND I AM GOING TO DALLAS FOR THE 4TH OF JULY!
i'm sorry we're all growing up.

k.

well, so much for the internship. katie put in her resignation and they think they are going to hire me for the job. i suggested they just pay me for time well spent and then i go back to college.

we played a game the other night over her beer, his iced tea, and my diet coke. favorite recall:

"everything's gotten taken from me: my job, my car, my kids, my house...they ain't gonna take away my fishin. no they ain't."
"ma'am, you don't have a place to sleep..."
"they ain't goin' take away my fishin"
click.

i went running/jogging/walking this morning on my butchered foot. there was a dead mouse on the road. rerun.

L.

I am sitting at my desk at work, with lightning flashing outside. I know that I don't often appreciate clouds and rain but today it just seems ideal. This is not to say that I am particularly drowsy or moody, liking the clouds for their dreariness, but its a small break in the heat and the rain is making a nice, consistent sound.

I have a few times doubted my career plans due to this job. I have some experience in the social service area but never thought it would be so capturing like it has been...not to mention that working for the homeless and destitute doesn't exactly bring about great income or even pay raises. But what do you do when the shoe fits so well, even if you don't always like the way it looks?

The proverbial shoe just got pissed on by the homeless man's dog.

While there are people that drive you near insanity, there are others that are putting their lives back together, working their asses off for their children, and setting up precautionary measures so what happened before will not happen again. Somewhere in that, you find that you helped.

You are humbled continually by the way they walk to work, leaving an hour earlier than they are scheduled to be in, not because of rush hour, but because it takes all that time to walk. They ask for help, forgetting their pride, recognizing that if they don't ask, they may never find it. And they encourage you, telling story after story of their life in pieces, letting you know, that with the right steps, those pieces can shape into wholeness again.

I don't mean to be sentimental but there is a lot of brokenness in this part of the world. The more I learn about it, the more it hurts...and the more I want to help.

Thanks, Z.

revamp.

Take hope off the market, they say, try selling something legit
That will not disappoint, break down, let down or quit.
For that hope is pre-shrunken, pre-washed, out of style, out of date.
It was created too long ago, then marketed too late.
Sell something with a little more guarantee,
Give me materialism, sell me something I can see.
Stop wasting my time with falsehood and pretense,
You can try things I need, like reasonable doubt and common sense,
Or coffee and trash cans, proven and practical,
Things that are useful, keeping this hardening heart from becoming too gentle.
Keep me out of the deals, details are a bore,
Instant gratification is what I am aiming for.
That hope has no fulfillment I can foresee,
At least not nearly soon enough for my need,
And its clearly not marketable, it has no true value,
So hear me in this advice, my recommendation on what to do:
Sell out to a sucker, someone naïve,
Let them do all the work, give them something to believe.
While it lasts and it holds, keeping for that short time only,
Let them trust it’s a deal while you make away with the money.
The buyers will soon minimize as hope fades with one rinse,
And the owners, those suckers, will replace hope with that previously suggested common sense.
For their trade will soon linger to self-preservation,
And they will sell false hope without reservation.
And the blatant distinction between hope one and hope two
Will fade and blend together until it’s nothing new.
For counterfeit faith will seem almost worth buying.
There’s so little to grasp hold of, anything seems worth trying.
Finally those suckers, those peddlers, naïve and knowledgeable alike,
Look for anything resembling the once sold hope with no spike,
No additives, no fillers, no batteries needed.
The public are crying for it, the nations have pleaded,
For the unmarketable product, described intangible at best,
Lest we be lost in the ideas that selfish desire and false promise have pressed.
And we dig through the trash cans, the dumpsters, the land fills,
Searching archives, records, and microfilm reels.



[I don’t know how to end it...]

Lou,

i thought i wouldn't think about it.

and I believe these hands have become more wrinkled.

i keep investing so sparingly, keeping so much to myself. there is a lot of selfishness in this soul of mine. a lot more than i would like for you to see. but please don't look away.
for there is goodness in the land and a promise of victory. there is purity beyond measure and restoration that i am beginning to learn something about.


“The service of forgiveness is rendered by one to the others daily. It occurs, without words, in the intercessions for one another.” Bonhoeffer

and i ask in pleading words of lacking wisdom for intervention. i beg for truth in this heart of mine that would speak softly and confidently to your broken and devastated spirit. there is no judgment. for there is one that you cannot stand but cannot stand without. and you try to pass off this massacre as an everyday pain, internal breaking of an undesired heart.
and i hide how much it hurts to know so much and act so little.

l.

there is integrity in honesty.

i moved the majority of my material life home this past weekend. i became ridiculously sick, which i believe was rest-induced.

there are things that i cannot speak of, prayers that leave me more sad than i have ever been, yet with a control i do not ask for, i do not care for, i cry for one thing. her name was laura, and she was my cat. she lived for eighteen full and spoiled years. i loved her more than most people. she died on sunday, april 20, 2008. and as we carried her down to the treeline to dig a small grave, my dad made quite the statement: "we should mark the grave 'laura-cat'...so people don't think we are doing weird things with the kids." oh, the tact and compassion in his voice.

so we will miss you, laura. no more cat-nip christmas stockings or summer cat-napping on the deck. you were such a lady.

r.

revelation number 1: about commitment--
the person to whom you give your greatest commitment is the person you have the ability to hurt the most.
[and even if you are narcissistic, you will hurt someone-yourself].


revelation number 2: i miss my dad, for the first time.

o.

I am trying to learn more about what matters.
I have been studying this practice called the daily offices. It’s a re-centering of the self throughout the day to focus on the truth, power, and presence of the Father. The early Jews, followers of Christ, and now churches today pray around the world to commune with one another in prayer. It is a time to internalize the word of God and agree together in words and heart.

I realized today that it hurts when you want others to care about something that you have worked so hard to care about, but they don’t…or won’t.
Please give it a chance, not for me, but for yourself.

For it is hard to hear myself praying above the noise, below the silence. It is one voice declaring a faith, praying a blessing, calling my own heart to worship, and expressing thanks. I can and will do this on your behalf, but we could come together and pray as one.

"So prone is the man of the world to be ashamed of any righteous action." (THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV, P. 281)

there is something to say

i have found such a melody to play at my funeral. mock my morbidity all you want, but please listen to this song.

shaun groves, last notes.

g is for green.

there has been trouble on the homefront.

and there is a homemade, croqueted, flower-design bikini top laying on my desk. who knew?

i am learning what most disgusts me about myself.
i am reciting what i wish to say.
i am wishing i had piano recitals as a child.
i am listening incessantly to one artist.
i am praying with my eyes open.
i am getting into the technicalities with diminishing emphasis in spirituality.
faith fatality.

stat for the day: the majority of the people living in third world countries live on one dollar or less per day. there are five million parking meters in the u.s. in use today. if each is fed simply one dollar in the course of a day, the money from these meters could feed five million people.
i'm sorry about your high speed internet. but i think we should change in the space stations for worldwide sustenance.

my mom told me once that i was "such a cause"-and she is right. no effect yet. working on it.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Finders_keepers

she's just waiting for the summertime
when the weather's fine.

jack johnson once told me: rach, don't let your dreams be dreams.
and i thanked him, that jack.



and i went up to old stadium, to the upper steps, on the east side the other day...to trigger a memory.

i then ran my ass off to feel some heat. some good, spring, almost-summer heat.


and i like your picture, mister.

i was going to write about the nice pen i found in the parking lot this morning, but...

i was reassured this morning that someone likes me...despite the cutting comments, absurd facial contortions, and rough humor i manage to emit daily. i found in my mail compartment today a small box, not big enough to get a package/large envelope/misprinted-phone-bill-with-text-manuscript slip, but a gift is a gift. this was neatly wrapped with a hand-written note on the wrapping about a nice weekend yada yada.
well...that story was becoming dull, so i will just clearly state: someone gave me pocky sticks. blessed chopstick-style wafers dipped in strawberry yogurt. i know that these nice little treats sound odd but they happen to be glorious.

and this is my wonder. one of many, simple by comparison, but a wonder all the same.

"when wonder is dead, the soul becomes a dry bone." Bishop William Quayle.

and i want never to feel like a dry bone. ew.

yeah.

shus.

it has been most recently noted.
buy one hot pair of pumps or stilettos (name your steal)
cover bottom of shoe with a heavy form of tape (duct tape not specifically required; electrical tape, because of its convenient black color, may be your best bet)
wear said shoes, scorched as ever, dressed to impress, out on the town.
remove tape.
return.
morally, just tell yourself you dreamt it. to look that smoking would have to have been a dream anyway.

i had something else to say but misplaced it. sorry.

[i can't figure out how to edit, so eff you for making fun of it.]

you know, i am that person. the one that messes up the punchline by leaving out the detail. worse off, it was my own detail toward my own pathetic punchline. sorry about the lack of commitment to you faithful few (who am I kidding? there’s only one…) that read this.
for clarification, please notice the 31st-33rd words, not including “this just in” nor punctuation, but certainly counting the numbers. Numbers are words too. Kids are people too…



this just in:

walmart pays the children in the sweatshops of asia 1 cent a year to melt the chocolate for the candy bars, those that you purchase at a low 49 cents, with their breath. now that’s a middle age crisis for a candy bar.

st. [for saint not street]

sorry about the twice in one day thing. kind of takes away from the first post of the day. oh well.

this may or may not be good enough to ruin the first but:

looking at the mass schedule. good ol' st. isidores. trying to figure out a prime time to attend. too bad the liturgy schedule was last updated fall of 2006. guess its just a hit or miss kind of thing.

goodnight.

g.

i have taken your assignment. i have taken up whistling.
it is one of the most annoying habits. many are noiseless. this one is not. i am pissing off the people that i live with. yet, somehow this constitutes an acceptable, social habit.
maybe it is acceptable, even entertaining, when the unusually quiet, awkward man in the row behind me at church perfectly whistles every note of david crowder. not for me. not for my poor roommate who listens to me butcher the andy griffith theme song.
why does the nation insist on always whistling the only whistled tune in all of television history (please correct me if i am wrong)? we can choose potentially millions of different songs to hum or whistle, and yet that is the result: rendition after horrible rendition of the reality-lacking tv show melody.
does anyone really believe life was like that in the 1960s?
that and cat calls are the only things i have had any work on.
but i have taken your assignment. i have taken up whistling.







i was wondering how that would sound. the repeat of the first two lines at the end of the story. like when songs repeat the first two lines of the song at the end of the song (most often done in, though not exclusive to, the country music industry). i don't believe i will try that again.


one more thing: since you are the only one reading this anyway...
i don't know if you have seen the movie juno. kudos to the working people who made such a wit-hit. kudos to the soundtrack, though the same song was repeated a bit too much. the first time i saw it, i thought it was the only song on the soundtrack. but notice that even I, one who never watches the same movie over within 6 months, was a repeated viewer while it was still in theater. sorry, on to my peeve: this song (and if you watched this movie, you know the song used in the beginning, middle, and end) has become a hit. but not a good hit. not a make-a-few-mil-maybe-throw-it-into-a-few-tv-shows-and-come-out-with-another-cd-by-the-artist-song. no. it has become the learn-on-the-guitar-play-way-too-often-girls-giggling-people-see-the-movie-so-they-feel-cool-knowing-the-song-but-not-appreciate-the-shady-humor-and-ridiculous-wit-that-has-made-this-movie-worthwhile-song.

two words: [soap] [box]

b is for burning.

the only thing i want to do is to lie on the floor. not quite a remedy but at least it makes me feel better for a bit. imagine that, living for the moment in a literally sick way.

aittr.

i read what i have been assigned. not with pleasure nor finding any form of entertainment but to simply fulfill the requirements.
yet you ask me, with such blatant audacity, to read a truly torturous book. a hideous display of grammar, punctuation, and editing. for though the actual type is dry and unorganized, the disobedience of set language rules is what causes me injury.

even cheap editors charge 25 dollars an hour. i sure hope no one paid this man or staff. and if he's procuring some part of the profits for this book, he just dug himself and these ignorant authors (along with more than a dozen other beneficiaries) into a mighty fine, frozen, earthy, and twofold national hole. for with the exception of the class i am enrolled in, very few will ever purchase this book (especially if they only take the time to note the not one, not two, but over ten errors in chapter 13. i am not sure how i even made it that far). i pity those who do without warning.

disclaimer: i am only titling said authors as "ignorant" because of their employment of a worthless editor, or possibly their lack of an editor altogether (which could have been better off in the long run...or potentially could have been worse. we will never know).

and if you question how i dare spoil such a piece of literature, i must, in defense, claim that the harm had been done long before i submitted my mind and intelligence to this "second edition, revised and expanded" paperback.

yon.

a cactus grew from the post on my bed. i thought it might go away if never watered or fed. but the pink little thing will never be dead because it is a creation of will, endurance, and said to have more lives than the average feline.

so we wined and we dined and i took him home with me. we danced and romanced with low lights to andy mckee.
and as he laid me down with ease and grace he took a cactus right in the face.

the end.

con.

i believe that hand-holding is a natural phenomenon and a natural comfort.

s.

seth's blog. http://sethgodin.typepad.com/

notice: january 8, 2008 "music lessons"

rule number 12. "Celebrity is underrated. The music business has always created celebrities. And each celebrity has profited for decades from that fame. Frank Sinatra is dead and he's still profiting. Elvis is still alive and he's certainly still profiting."

m.s.d.

you say you support me yet you continually pay a bill to a dial-up server. bah.


her name was mary day. she died on [merry] Christmas day.


for there are two things in life that are certain: death and taxes. they inevitably bring about one another in the end anyway. the tax on coffins these days...

epicurus once said, and i am sorry if you know who that is, :

"Thus that which is the most awful of evils, death, is nothing to us, since when we exist there is no death, and when there is death we do not exist."

translation: we cheat death until we die.

check out emily dickinson too. she had more than a life's worth to say about death. (sorry about the morbid humor...)