aluminum air

I was daydreaming the other day about being a great writer. Not very often am I in the zone where everything that comes out is gold. I think I censor myself too much. I don't just spout off whatever's on my mind.

But I type it out. Spell-check. Delete the whole thing. Think about it again. Type a bit more. Ahh! Delete! Go to my thesaurus and change a few words. Analyze my worldview. Analyze my audience. Am I being spirit-led here, or am I venting crap? Forget it - if it's not pure heart, I don't want to do it. Should it come easier?

So this is what it's like to have a writer's block...my whole life.

Exciting news: My PowerBook got here this weekend!

i heart pranks

Tonight I boxed up my things for the big move this weekend. I didn't realize how much crap I have stashed around my room, but I found a few treasures...

1. life-sized plastic cockroaches (always good for a scream)
2. whoopy cushion (the noise it makes is so completely exaggerated, and non-lifelike, but still makes me laugh)
3. worm pills (put them in your friends bottled water and it grows to look like a yellow worm...when she goes to take a drink, it goes into her mouth, causing her to spew water everywhere, complete with tackling me afterwards)
4. lots of pictures and notes (most of these are categorized by "pre-MC, MC, post-MC, pre-CCK, CCK)
5. lots of books (from Bridges of Madison County to Hot Mama [the guide to feeling like a goddess during pregnancy] to a green Gideon Bible that I could carry around in my back pocket)
6. about 5 unfinished journals (it taught me to always buy small journals, so by the time I was tired of looking at that one, I'd be done anyway, and would have to switch)

About 10 boxes later, with my closet & under my bed still to tackle, I'm tired. Goodnight, Pa. Goodnight, John boy.

desperate is a good word, yes

There are some days when you try to pretend that everything is okay, and it's actually believable. And there are other days when everyone can see into your soul. And it's sad. Heavy. Lost. Blurry. All you want is hope to swell. Again. Please, again. This day I'm glad my pride didn't have a tighter hold.

I needed some air and space, so I walked to the park, and around the path, where the rebellious girl was escorted to the car by a police officer and her mother. And then I began to cry. It began as tears for Alexa, but then I needed to cry for the waywardness and rebellion of my own heart. Sometimes a small step away from Father can instantly turn into miles.

Of all the times I'd been there, I don't think I ever realized the waterfall until then. It was so loud and the spray hit my jeans when I leaned to breathe it in. I chose not to move once I began to lean on the rail, probably because I didn't want anyone nearby to see my wet face. The Spirit was hemming me in, silently, while I was still wondering if He would want to look at me again. I was looking down. And He was looking. He knew my longing heart all along. It's been tied to His forearm since the day I was born, and He wasn't going to let it go now.

Suddenly I was laying on the grass by the waterfall, where the full dam of my searching broke, where I didn't care about my wet face anymore. I wished the waterfall would surge forth, washing me away, washing me clean. Find me in the waterfall, daughter. Everything I create, in its purest form, I am found in. My pride was gone. And He was speaking to me!

So David came to Baal-perazim and defeated the Philistines there, and he said " The Lord has broken through my enemies before me like the breakthrough of waters." That's why David named the place Baal-perazim: The Master of the Breakthrough.

All I know is I feel asleep right then, wet face and all, and 30 minutes later I woke up new. Clean. Peaceful. Clear and silent. Loved. Beloved.

Today the Blue Angels are doing their warmups over Lake Washington. I can hear them over my office - it almost makes the building shake. Instead, I'm waiting for our clients to get here. We're taking them out for sushi. Isn't tea really pretty when it slowly steeps?

It's funny how if the space I'm in is cluttery, my mind gets cluttery. For instance, if I have piles of books on my floor and clothes strewn about, no matter how hard I try, I won't be able to concentrate on what I'm reading. There's such a thing as messy silence. And my blog was getting silently messy.

I'm inwardly pleased today because I'm buying an iBook from a friend. I'll have to get some white sunglasses to go with it. I don't even know the specs! And I don't care! All I care about is that I'll get to record my thoughts at 83 wpm.


















I just found that on my computer. From whom? I can't remember. But it makes me laugh.

Ok. Bye.