Day 106: Shelled

Recently, while in Tennessee trying to act like I was the next big writer, Ted Dekker (who IS a big writer) said that writers are a unique breed of people that are defined by 3 major characteristics:

Observation, Empathy, and Perseverance.

I observe. I was a (low-level) stalker in High school, after all. Yeah, it was kinda creepy, I get that, but without defending it, I have grown out of it.

I persevere. I'm pretty hard headed about things once I set my mind.

Empathy. . . is not my strong suit. I'm rather callous, and that just comes from. . . well I don't know where it comes from. But I'm pretty even keeled. Zen almost. . . usually. Work does a good job of getting under my skin. But empathy? Not in the least. I'm cold hearted. I've never even cried at a funeral for people I knew. My grandmother? Nope.

And then Dennis Whaley died. I felt deeply saddened because he was such a dear old man.
Time passed.
Lawton died. I cried for an hour. Honestly, I don't think I've ever cried longer, for anything.

There are times where I realize that I'm tearing up like I'm gonna cry for things I used to bat an eye at, and I begin to wonder. Am I being shelled?

When you boil an egg and remove the shell, you're left with the egg in a pretty solid but still easily crumbly state. But in the shell, the boiled egg is pretty unusable. You could try eating it, but the shell is still pretty sharp. You need to shell it before you can use it.

This is wishful thinking, but more than that, what if I am being shelled?

To be used! Wouldn't that be something?