A couple nights ago I had a rough one. I ran out to my car and headed straight for Dodge. It's the only street that I really love and I drove to the farthest store and bought the largest books and the sweetest oreos. And then I drove back, singing loudly and badly with the music. Bounded up the stairs, threw back my layers and layers of blankets, and mixed up a gin and tonic.
It didn't matter what time it was or how much I had to do or how early I had to get up. Sometimes, those things don't matter at all. I think a lot of people like to talk about it. Or cry it out or eat a lot of ice cream and watch tragic movies. I like to get out of my world for a bit. I like to read a story that has a beginning, a middle, and an end and I only read happy ends.
I never talk myself out of it- the sadness. Not on the first night. No matter how small it might seem in the morning, how silly and foolish my tears feel later.
Last night my sister and I studied late in the library and then rented a movie and buried ourselves in my bed. With a plate of sweet potato fries and edamame and icecream and oreos and a happy movie. I sleep better when she's there. We went through my closet, putting things together, admiring each other. Promising to go running together, to tidy ourselves up.
And it was all so important to me. Because I had reached the point- the feeling of great despair I had begun to think that there is no one out there who matches my soul, no one to move with. I had begun to believe that I speak a different language than everyone else. And maybe that there is something wrong with believing truth exists and in honor worth sacrificing for.
And then it all didn't matter because suddenly I was not alone. It doesn't matter if I am just me for the rest of my life, I was born into a great family. And I was given great friends. And they teach me, every day they teach me about who I am.
And they remind me of Him.
No comments:
Post a Comment