I have the passionate desire to walk away. To quit. Scrap the mission. To cry, “Uncle!” I want to quit sooo bad! It’s sooo very too hard to do this.
This is where folks tell me or, if the tables were turned, I’d tell them to lean on God, to draw strength from the source of everything. I KNOW THAT!
I am failing at being strong. I am failing at trusting again. I am failing at faith. I am failing at rejoicing in God’s strength being made perfect in my weakness! I suck at discipline. My heart is broken in multiple places. I want to quit. And even as I want to, I can’t. Tonight, I pray at my son’s daycare program. Sunday, I preach at my internship church. I have papers to write to maintain my license & I have classes to complete & a degree to finish to be an ordained minister. I actually believe that this is what God called me to do. I want to see it through but my current life & method is failing. I feel like I am failing. I am so glad that this is my pseudo anonymous blog. I need to get this out. I need to start over. Maybe I need to quit. How can I start over? How do I begin again? How do I recover & heal. It’s all too much. I have feelings of abandonment, poor self-esteem, I worry that people think I’m weak. I am weak. I worry that because of it, I will lose opportunities. My friends say that if someone rejects me then well, it’s their bad & they are wrong. If they hold my humanity against me then they are not the people I should want approval from anyway. BUT THAT DOESN’T PAY THE BILLS! But those people don’t pay my bills either. They just make me crazy. The thought of their disapproval, disdain & gossip kills me! I let them hurt me & meanwhile, they are not even worried about me! They don’t care! I do not want the approval of these folks. They don’t communicate well, they are self important, they are frontin’, they are cold hearted, they don’t keep promises & they don’t offer help. When they do, you are obligated & indebted. Oh & some of them are racist & some go along to keep position. I am angry & hurt.


Rough Draft to 15 different poems, books, memoirs, sermons, confessions, apologies, blog entries and maybe one eulogy?

Tuesday, June 23, 2009 at 12:30am, revised 09/18/2009

So, I lost weight, I went to the gym, I controlled portions, I ate a freakin’ grapefruit for my snack and I’M HUNGREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!! I want a real snack. Ugh. See, I really want to be in shape. I want to be healthy, I want to get strong and sexy and chiseled. I want to be a swirl of curve and muscle with a layer of delicious softness. I want to look good. For me, for you, for my husband.

Oh, and don’t get me started on him. He’s been at the gym almost every freakin’ day for over a month and I just want to tell you that he looks terrible and I hope you never notice in your entire life how fantastic my husband is…because he isn’t like me. He doesn’t need attention like I do and if you ever touched him…well, somebody would die…not sure who though… Oh yeah, but back to me, I want to get in shape and healthy and strong and sane and continue what I call my super hero training. I have this little person that I need to take care of, this bigger person that I need to love, this calling that I need to obey…I can hear my womb calling, calling for another. The third. See, the second one got a away.

I bled for 20 days, I still can’t believe that little one got away and my goodness did that little one get away real, real slow. Iris told me, you have to come back, it’s ectopic, there is no way around it, if you don’t, it will grow wherever it is and you will rupture and it will fill you stomach with blood. So methotrexate, two shots in the butt. Weekly blood tests until she said okay…now about your pre cancerous cervix….But I want to try again, he wants to try with me, we could maybe make another little person. The third, hope she won’t get away. She, he? Any chance? Wish I could skip all the bad parts of the my first school year. Wish I could skip the ugly words, the surgeries, the giant syringe, the blood, the pressure, the bottle of pills, the wishing I could die…that a bus would hit me…the screaming…I sure wish I could skip all that and keep all the beauty that slid in between. Working to find a way to not speak of this school and it’s inhabitants with unbalanced hate.

Year two – recovery, recovery, recovery and set back and recovery and the threat of non-enrollment. See the dirt under my nails? It’s my skin and a little of my blood. I try to wash my hands, wash my mind, wash my self real good before I put on my robe and preach but I end up showing my wounds. Wounded Healer, my ass. I want to be a superhero. A force. I want to pray and preach and make beauty when I’m not screaming or looking in the mirror wishing I could change myself.

But I lost weight! I’ll be in the gym tomorrow right next to him because it makes me feel good (he makes me feel so good) and I’ll be at therapy on Wednesday. I’ll keep loving the most beautiful boy in the world everyday even when I’m telling him to STOP THAT! He dances when he walks, he sings when he talks, he laughs all the time, his hugs are perfect even when they are half-hearted because he is a big boy now…thank you.

Can’t wait ’til morning when he climbs into my bed and says, “Good morning, mommy!” And then hugs me. ¬†When he goes to school, I think about all that I have not completed…incomplete, incompletes. So tomorrow… I will try again to eat, to exercise, to feel good, to love, to accept love, to kiss, to hug, to write, to complete, to hip, to hop, to don’t stop…again.

Not pregnant yet, ^@*&%#!

Nope. Last time it took two months. I shouldn’t complain, this is only the first month. I’m not really sad but….it would have been nice to get my way. See that’s what I get for thinking that I could plan this. It will happen when its supposed to. I’m not in charge and its not about me or my timing. I should tell myself that over and over until I understand it, accept it, believe it. I should just shut up and enjoy myself.

Oh, one of my Div school cohorts asked me if I was crazy (for trying to get pregnant). She asked me how I would do it with school and all. I nodded in agreement in regard to the being crazy and then I told her something like this:

I don’t know but I’ll tell you what I do know.

She waited.

I will be 37 in October.

She immediately understood and said, “Okay.”

You know? I was pretty sure that that age answer would work on people….well, it worked on her anyway….

Shout out to my cousin Angie. I hope she comments on this one.