A Perfectly Cursed Life

Because Blessings Are Overrated

Older Writings July 17, 2008

Every so often I plan on self-publishing older writings.  I may not even like them anymore, but they’re part of my creative past and, thus, in some part, a part of my creative future.

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Willing to Wait for the Miracles–October 9, 2001

So I hear it happens to everyone. And I guess it has happened to me before as well, but it never sinks in does it. It’s just like love and heartbreak…we never learn. I had to move back home this past week. Back in with my parents, back in with my sixteen-year-old brother. Back in between feuding neighbors and feuding morals. Back in to some sort of comfortability that I have yet to name, and at the same time lacking in some freedoms I have yet to express.

And on top of that I have five classes, four jobs, a million responsibilities and a thousand ways I wish I could get out of them. But the world just doesn’t seem to slow down any for me.

The world didn’t stop last Thursday when I had to haul my belongings back home and up the stairs to my old room. The world didn’t stop when I had a near nervous breakdown this afternoon. The world certainly won’t stop no matter what happens to me.

And in all of the mess that has been my life these past few months if not this past year, I have to question my willingness to wait for the miracles. At certain points in our life we look around and assess things, noting that something better must be coming along. Someone, somewhere, must be saving the best for last and we just haven’t gotten anywhere near there yet. There has to be a tall and handsome funny and charming man waiting for me after three heartaches, one that destroyed me and built me back up and another that I am still in the midst of dealing with. And that’s just one year.

There has to be some reprise of easy money and free time. I just have to believe that. Somewhere there is a fruity drink on a beach where I can write for hours (because my writer’s block is gone) and where the slight tickle of sand between my toes is my greatest worry.

There has got to be some reprise of late mornings, of sleeping in until noon only to go back to bed at four. There has to be a rush of not only needing to be under the covers, but time to do it. And clean sheets scented with a soft fragrance to soothe my every ache and pain.

But these are all fantasies. Sadly enough, my fantasies have resorted to fruity drinks and beds full of satisfaction when all I seem to ever get are flaky men and empty beds much lacking in satisfaction.

Where does the insanity stop?

The question can’t be answered. It cannot barely be asked yet answered, and no matter how long I wish on the stars above for any one wish, I will have to learn to take the little victories and pile them up on my pillow in the hope that one night I’ll be able to sleep with them a little longer than four or five hours.

The question can’t be answered because I have to find pleasure in the things that are presented to me, like two committed friends willing to let me ball to them, even though they had much better things to be doing. I have to find pleasure in coming home and having a plateful of food–of home cooked food–waiting for me. I have to find pleasure in for once (knock on wood) having a car that actually does, in fact, get me from point A to point B. I have to find pleasure in being…and I’m not preaching because I know how, I’m saying this in the hopes that I may learn.

While it is not in the end result, but in the journey that the story of our life really unfolds, we never can see that while we are on the road, it’s raining and we can’t find the directions for our destination let alone a map. So once in awhile it is nice to realize that the world doesn’t consist of 15 credit hours, 3.5 extracurricular activities and weekend nights at the bar. It is relieving to be able to drive home and actually feel a sense of calm when you walk in the door. And it’s especially nice to take a break from our worrying for at least five minutes a day and see the miracles around us, because while we are waiting for them, they could be passing us by.

I’m just another driver, and I too have yet to find the directions and the map, and I believe that I may have to take the car in for service. Maybe I’ll take a breather while the vehicle is in the shop for myself, and maybe I’ll be able to find all of the other miracles that surround me because it is my windshield, not my rearview mirror that is cracked.

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One Response to “Older Writings”

  1. tricia Says:

    Very well said.


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