IT's May 23rd. In three days I'll celebrate six months with Kait, which is something that's actually pretty groundbreaking. Definitely by far the longest relationship I've had, and it's still going pretty much full steam. Eventually yes, there will be some hiccups down the road, but for now I think we're really strengthening up to weather the storms. Now lately we havent exactly had the most time to really bond with each other, but our late night runs to McDonalds to sit and chat are just all the more valuable. I guess if I wanted to sum up this section of my massive update, it would be with this word: Fulfilling.
Schools out, and I managed to pull out all A's by some miscalculation I'm sure. I know in Art I really shouldn't have had one, but I won't argue with the results. I'm somewhat above a 3.0 now, which is fine by me. Parents yell at me for it, but you know what? I'm happy with a 3.0. With an F on my record, and the bunch of C's I got, I think I'm doing well for myself with that 3.0. It's pretty good. And now that school's out, I'll get to focus more on my writing and my day job and Kaitlin, and everything else that needs focused on. So if I wanted to sum up school in one word: Conquered.
Work. Well Whataburger anyways. Clocking 40 hours a week consistently, making the money, and I get to work with Kaitlin every once in a while. Honestly I want a job thats a little easier on the stress level and gives me a chance to write or at least think about my writing on the job. Having to constantly think about #1s with no tomatoes, no onions, mayonaise instead of mustard with jalapenos and grilled onion with onion rings instead of fries and a DP to drink whatasized constantly. . . is hard on the head. I can't come home and write. I can't write at all actually, because it's just too tiring. Summed up in one word: Undesirable.
What about my other job, writing? Well the company is officially launched. We're still spot mopping on the website for grammar errors and such (which is even more embarassing) but we've recorded the first few interviews, and I know what stories I'm working on for the anthology we're putting out. The first story I got is riveting, but maddening at the same time because I never find time to work on it because I'm at work, asleep, or my parents are having me run errands. Not to sound like I don't appreciate them because I do, but I really do need the time to write. It's hard to call yourself a full time writer if you're clocking 5 hours a week at best. But were I to get time, I'm really thinking I can do this. Consistently. Summed up, minimal.
So lets see, Kait, Work, School, Writing. . . What else to cover?
Well life in general is going pretty great.
Summed up in one word
Surprising.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Day 98: Perfect
My mother once told me that the dreams of believers are God-given; perfect. That the dreams you had helped you live life. I've always wanted to believe her; I really have. For the longest time, God was supposed to give me the things I wanted. Afterall, there is that verse that says "I will give you the desires of your heart." - but where were my desires? Where were the things that I desperately wanted? My dreams. "God works in mysterious ways" I suppose.
But there comes a point when thoughts are challenged. Ideas are tested. And you see either how right or wrong you were. Scary moments. The moment of truth, as some people would say. They're moments that when you're older, you look back on and. . . and you smile knowingly. Those moments are key. Those moments are turning points. Those moments make you who you are. Those days, those nights, those glances, are YOU.
God gave me one of those moments. It was night that I still don't believe I slept, because I had this sense that the reality I was experiencing wasn't real. I remember the ceiling I was staring at, and then I was on an empty stage. THe cool moving air, the pregnant silence, the aged wooden floor, soft lighting, and the intense focus of a house, building. Building for a climax. Their nights, our nights, our lives had been building to this point - a point where the essence is ripe for the picking.
I walked out into the light as a single violin filled the air with a slow melody. No lines came to mind, so I let the violin play undisturbed. Why speak? It was a moment where words were ruinous, gasps were ruinous, stray thoughts were ruinous. A moment, fragile, for the music to say all that I couldn't say; do all that I couldn't do.
A lighter sound, a cleansing sound joined the violin; a single note that morphed into another and then, after being repeated I was able to make out. "Sono mie care e lui, e il mio" - I felt the gaze of the house shift focus, somewhere to my left, behind me. I slowly moved my head and I. . .
I don't know what I felt; it overwhelmed me completely. I do know what I saw, and it is likely a sight that I'll never see again. She stood there. Barefoot. Yellow rose in her hair. Blue silk dress, flowing. Golden band. She was the source of the cleansing tune. She was the source of the beauty.
We took one step towards each other. Another. Another. Another. We locked in an embrace. I heard a whisper on my neck, "I am my beloved's, and he is mine. . . he is mine." This was it! The climax! Overwhelmingly everything I'd ever wanted, here in my arms. All the disappointments, the battles lost, the hoops I'd jumped through only to fall flat on my face meant nothing. There was no me and and my struggles, there was only --
I felt a stabbing pain in my chest. Not like heartbreak, but something else. I felt my shirt begin to grow warm and stick to my body. My arms went cold; my embrace loosened. "No! Not like this!" I was screaming that in my head, "Not like this!", but I didn't utter a sound. I fell back, like a loose sack of flesh. She knelt over me and put a blood-covered hand to my lips "Shh.. it'll be ok. It'll be ok." A tear slipped, caught the light, and fell onto my cheek.
I cried in the dark cold comfort that the (dream) was over, but the tear, the many tears! remain. It's so true though. I may not blame her for trying to kill my love. I can point to no single or multiple wrongdoings that she has transgressed against me, not one. Yet, I blamed her. I blame her.
Given the chance, she shut me down. So, I guess after two and a half years, and everything I've been through, I can finally say that my mom was right. Dreams are God-given. A forewarning.
Perfect.
But there comes a point when thoughts are challenged. Ideas are tested. And you see either how right or wrong you were. Scary moments. The moment of truth, as some people would say. They're moments that when you're older, you look back on and. . . and you smile knowingly. Those moments are key. Those moments are turning points. Those moments make you who you are. Those days, those nights, those glances, are YOU.
God gave me one of those moments. It was night that I still don't believe I slept, because I had this sense that the reality I was experiencing wasn't real. I remember the ceiling I was staring at, and then I was on an empty stage. THe cool moving air, the pregnant silence, the aged wooden floor, soft lighting, and the intense focus of a house, building. Building for a climax. Their nights, our nights, our lives had been building to this point - a point where the essence is ripe for the picking.
I walked out into the light as a single violin filled the air with a slow melody. No lines came to mind, so I let the violin play undisturbed. Why speak? It was a moment where words were ruinous, gasps were ruinous, stray thoughts were ruinous. A moment, fragile, for the music to say all that I couldn't say; do all that I couldn't do.
A lighter sound, a cleansing sound joined the violin; a single note that morphed into another and then, after being repeated I was able to make out. "Sono mie care e lui, e il mio" - I felt the gaze of the house shift focus, somewhere to my left, behind me. I slowly moved my head and I. . .
I don't know what I felt; it overwhelmed me completely. I do know what I saw, and it is likely a sight that I'll never see again. She stood there. Barefoot. Yellow rose in her hair. Blue silk dress, flowing. Golden band. She was the source of the cleansing tune. She was the source of the beauty.
We took one step towards each other. Another. Another. Another. We locked in an embrace. I heard a whisper on my neck, "I am my beloved's, and he is mine. . . he is mine." This was it! The climax! Overwhelmingly everything I'd ever wanted, here in my arms. All the disappointments, the battles lost, the hoops I'd jumped through only to fall flat on my face meant nothing. There was no me and and my struggles, there was only --
I felt a stabbing pain in my chest. Not like heartbreak, but something else. I felt my shirt begin to grow warm and stick to my body. My arms went cold; my embrace loosened. "No! Not like this!" I was screaming that in my head, "Not like this!", but I didn't utter a sound. I fell back, like a loose sack of flesh. She knelt over me and put a blood-covered hand to my lips "Shh.. it'll be ok. It'll be ok." A tear slipped, caught the light, and fell onto my cheek.
I cried in the dark cold comfort that the (dream) was over, but the tear, the many tears! remain. It's so true though. I may not blame her for trying to kill my love. I can point to no single or multiple wrongdoings that she has transgressed against me, not one. Yet, I blamed her. I blame her.
Given the chance, she shut me down. So, I guess after two and a half years, and everything I've been through, I can finally say that my mom was right. Dreams are God-given. A forewarning.
Perfect.
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