Actually, that wasn't my intention at all. I just wanted to escape reality with other people. Because reading and writing is naturally isolating. Every time I read and write I escape by myself. This time 'round, I really needed fellow escapees though I didn't know I needed them.
Just so you know, my life compared to (I'm sure) thousands, millions of lives is spoiled. I know. I know. But if I was mourning the death of someone in my family, it's hardly reassuring or comforting for someone to say to me, "Oh, but people die every day."
...thank you. Not really. But thank you.
It's the same thing with hard days- hard weeks. I'm not trying to compare my pain to others. I already shouldn't compare my happiness to others. How much unhealthier if I compare my pain?
If pain and happiness were meant to be compared I don't think we as humans would feel anything at all. We'd become this numb mass of nerves and fat, however ripped you are. Because pain and happiness is meant to be shared- empathy. It's how pity transforms into compassion: all you need is a little action.
All these feelings are seedlings. I can hold that seedlings in my hand all I want and show people what I'm holding, but it'll just be a seedling full of unused potential. What good is a seed if it's not planted? If it's not eaten for nourishment, even? I don't want to be just a seedling. I don't want to hide behind the excuse of escaping- LET ME ACTUALLY ESCAPE.
I should like to run away from all this free trade and chaffing thighs and blistering feet and smoking tongues and ill-timed humor and burned books and burned people and people who burn, debilitating debt and broken pencils and confusing art and meaningless lyrics and tea without honey and coffee substitute and arrogance and ignorance and-.
I just want to escape. Whether its right or wrong is beyond me. And always will be. Methods of escape are as gray as the way people live their lives: too many ways. Too many ways. Forgoing the fact that I am eternally grateful for all that the Trinity has done for me, I also think I stay with Christianity/Catholicism/religion/whateveritiscalled because what an unnecessary fear not to know which life it is that I need to live. There are too many ways; too many options.
A new way of 'You live your life and I live mine': WHO ELSE'S LIFE AM I SUPPOSED TO LIVE?
It's enough to have many lives in my mind- these many lives in my head that often blur the line between reality and fantasy anyway. I don't need anymore confusion. My one life already does too much of that- I don't need to help it.
I didn't offer blog posts the past four days because I didn't want to. I wanted to attend a church I've never before attended. I wanted to walk down sidewalks I vaguely remembered. Eat a better cheeseburger. Make new friends (ish). Forget I'm dehydrated. People watch. I just wanted to...
That's it, I just wanted to.
"Wanted to what?"
"I just wanted to."
Perhaps this is a generation of incomplete sentences because completing them is overrated. (LOLJK, complete your sentences. You can't-eveners. Don't be the seedling full of unused potential. Be planted! Be eaten!)
I should be planted. I should be eaten.
Then consume me, God.
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You probably still want my Zentangle, huh? Okay [:
My grandpa drew in one of these squares. Can you guess which?
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