Paralysis

I wonder sometimes how many other people experience this. Then I'm sure there are many and some to an even greater degree.

Sometimes life just flatlines.

It's the same thing over and over again. Try to dream up something new for supper. Go ahead--just try. All that comes to mind are spaghetti and hamburgers and those other meals you have over and over and over again. Of course they should make dh happy--dh who's always complaining that we never have the same meal twice and that I'm always using them as human guinea pigs. Of course now he's complaining that I "never cook."

Can't write to save my life. I sit down and stare at things. Can't clean. Everything seems like a major chore that takes more strength than I've got to put to it. About the only thing I can do is read (have devoured three young adult novels in the past two days--thanks Gary Paulsen and Patricia Giff Reilly [probably spelled wrong but I can't lift a dictionary. ]). It's the same old fights, the same old worries, the same old nagging and complaining and I just want to say: "Okay! I give up. Okay, okay, okay. Just let me have some peace."

I think I need to go home and see my mother.

And somewhere back there my brain is functioning on logic instead of emotions and it's saying, "Well, you big dummy. You're not drinking your water, you're not taking your pills, and you know this is temporary and will pass if you'll just RELAX and REST." But you know that isn't as easy as it sounds either. DELEGATE is another command that screams through my head, but every time I delegate I end up paying for it, it seems.

Gosh how can you stand all this whining and complaining. I can't stand it myself. But there's my time for today. I'm going to go see if I can find the pieces of my YA novel that I think I surprised myself and have pretty much written just doing it scene by scene as they came into my head, and believe me, they were in no particular order whatsoever. Trouble is, all those scenes are scattered between files and notebooks and stacks of papers that are not yet filed. You know filing will probably be the one thing that haunts me right up to the day I die. I hate it!

Here's to Friday.

Freewrite

threnody (THREN-uh-dee) noun A song of lamentation for the dead.

Funny that this turns up at the top of my word list. Well almost the top. Top word was something having to do with government by the military. Which didn't interest me in the least.

This does?

Well sorta, because I've had a rant going on in my head for the past week that I really need to get out of there. So apologies ahead of time if I step on toes. But no one should be offended--it is after all my opinion, and frankly I'm entitled to it. I just have no business forcing anyone else to adopt it. :)

A friend and businessman--and a very fine friend and business man--was the victim of an accident about a week and a half ago. And I think it would have just gone right up the wall and down the other side if someone had tried to tell me that "the Lord needed another angel," or "it was his time to go," or "God called him home."

1) the Lord does need any more angels. He created enough to do the jobs that needed to be done, and even if he did,

2) God wouldn't call him by having a tractor fall on him and choke him to death with gasoline. Sorry. A God of love wouldn't do such a thing.

3) HE WAS HOME! He was on the earth that is made for humans and he was surrounded by a family and tons of friends who are so hurt and grieving. He didn't want to be anywhere else and he was fulfilling God's "plan" for him already.

The platitudes just wear thin because in the end God comes out lacking.

Here's the facts:
J was a victim of time and unforeseen occurrences. (Ecclesiastes 9:11)
He is sleeping in death the same way Lazarus was. (John 11:11)
God's plan is to reunite him with his friends and family at a time when the grief and sorrow we know are gone. (Revelation 21:3, 4)
God did not foreordain that he would be killed on that day or in that fashion. (James 1:13)
He has paid the price for his imperfections: the wages sin pays is death (Romans 6:7) and therefore his slate is clean.
A stronger faith or a better life would not have prevented what happened i.e. he wasn't "punished" for something he should or should not have been doing. (Psalm 103:10, 11)

Ding Ding--gotta pick up the wonder child. But this felt good. :)