Tuesday, December 01, 2009


It's late, and my head hurts, which makes it hard to think. There's so
much to do, and so little time to do it in. There's so little money.

There never seems to be a break. Just falling asleep feels like work.

But some things are better, the overall sum is positive. It feels like
a constant escape across borders, from danger to danger, struggle to
struggle, but the overall elevation has increased.

Things are so much harder to plan now, because there are so many
unknowns. Too many factors that can't be eliminated. And the overall
sum is positive, but there's an impending balance coming, and I
constantly worry that I'm taking it too lightly.

I wish I deserved the life I thought I did. I wish we were farther
ahead than we are, just like we planned to be. But wishing doesn't
change the future or the present, it just hurts.

It would be easy to say that age killed these hopes, but that's not
true; they're still alive, tears unmoving down their cheeks, looking
away in silent protest. At least that's what I feel like doing.

Something mean and vindictive in me wants to call this growing up, but
there's too much venom, too much oppression and callous hate in that
idea. I'll always be full of vehement opposition to that, as long as I
have any sense of justice in me at all. I'm already there, I'm up. I'm
only going to get older from here. There never was a line, some haptic
bump that marked the passage from child to adult in my thinking, or if
there was it happened too early for me to realize. So, it's not
growing up. It's more like the removal of possibilities.

I won't die in this town. I won't live here. I can't raise our
children here. I can't. But like most unfortunate things, the whole
decision is crippled by the lack of money.

But don't mistake me, I'm not plaintively offering this up as some
tragedy to be mourned over. This is more a declaration of war. It is
plaintive, in a way; it should be a statement haunting in it's
insistence, a forboding that sends trembles up the spine.

I won't sentence us to stay in this place, and I don't care what I
have to do to stop it.

I still have hope for the future. I don't think there's any way that
God plans for us to stay here. And I feel secure in asking Him for His
will. I feel a sort of military solidarity, an immobile sureness about

And because I feel it there, hard as marble, I am a little afraid.
There is always a chance. God is love, but He is stronger than I am,
and I can only hope that He doesn't mean to teach me a lesson, to
break that which feels so unbreakable. Because I'm so afraid of how
fragile I'd be without it.

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