Thinking

I can't think.
Maybe if I blog it,
I'll understand what I'm supposed to do next.

I feel hollowed out.
I wonder if I'll ever get better at this.
It occurs to me that I really don't have
a parental model of what's realistic,
what's good,
what's over the line,
what's to be expected,
what is indulgent.
I only have my own latch-key-kid memories and
God's Word to guide me.
I wonder if others are searching for specifics
where His Word is strangely vague,
or is it just me?

I wonder if I'll answer for that later --
Actually acknowledging that that's how I feel.
The Lord knows though.

I can't believe I killed my cat.
I can't believe I backed over his body in the driveway,
and then ran over it again, thinking I had bumped something
against the garage door.
I can't seem to shake the image in my head -- of him -- dead.

I'm not feeling the love.
Not finding the joy.
Spending every day as if to just get through it,
Waiting for the next one to come.
Oh, Maranatha!

I want to be alone.
Not forever, just a long weekend.
I want to find myself in the Lord.
I want to think a full thought,
from beginning to end.
I can't seem to continue on a train of thought
once I've been interrupted.
There is always someone to interrupt me.
I know. I know.
Someday I'll long for these days.
I wish I could enjoy them as much now as I'll long for them then.

I went to the ladies book study tonight.
I was in such a funk when I left.
I didn't pull away from my family to be there,
I ran!
I didn't even say good-bye to any of them.
They usually clamour at the front of the house and shout their
good-byes out the screen door.
I didn't give them the chance.
I'm tired of practicing self-control and pretending that
I'm o.k. with them when I'm not.
I do take it personally.
If they love me, they'll keep my commands.

I realize this is a practice in self-pity.
And that it's pathetic.
Pray for me.

I'm sure I'll be better tomorrow.