just the stirring in my soul.

It really was the kind of morning that lasted all afternoon. I would like to say that it's not still looming over my head in some creepy fashion...but it so is.

A really odd day, today. And I know I should be asleep, say, 50 minutes ago. But I'm not. And all I've wanted to do for 2 straight weeks is write. It's the weirdest thing. I spend so much of my life narrating my experience while I'm living it. And I think, yep, this is how I'll write this. But when it comes to sitting here with this damned blinking cursor...

Nothing.

It never comes out. I do not understand. Does that mean it's just not time for it to come out from it's delightful swim in my brain? Or am I not trying hard enough?

Both highly possible options. And whatever the answer is, I'm doing it tonight. I'm hardly planning to narrate the innermost workings of my dark and twisty soul at this point. You're hardly ready for all of that. Hell, I'm hardly ready for all of that. Tis why I pay somebody to tell me it won't kill me!

*ha*

There are so many places in my life that I so wish I could fast forward through. And yet, I feel. So. Old.

And I'm not saying that because I think I secretly manage to possess more wisdom or maturity or self-awareness than most people my age (however true that may be, it's no secret, right ;) ). I honestly feel like my life is 3/4 over. Like I've done and felt most everything there is to do and feel in life. Most of it dark and uncomfortable and deep. A lot of it I wouldn't trade for anything in the whole world. The only feeling I really think I was cheated out of is that of youth.

I'm not sure I've ever really felt young.

Wonder if they make a pill for that...

I can't help but think that because I believe that I belong ultimately to the greatest Storyteller there is, no detail of my existence will go unseen or un-wrapped-up, if you will. Including that of never being young...

What's the opposite of Peter Pan?

If I could just get a break, a little bit of peace in my circumstances, a little bit of stability and independence, I would make that happen and be the kind of young that I actually, physically am right now. Because I only get to do this once. And God knows, I shake in my metaphorical boots thinking of screwing it up.

I know what you're thinking. I need to relax. A vacation, even. And you're absolutely right. Would you like to donate to the fund? Because I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I took an incredibly impractical job roughly 80 miles from where I live that pays next to nothing all because Jesus told me to. Translation, I'm broke. Send money.

I'll take a vacation if the option comes to the front. I'll do fun things that will contribute to my milkbox missing youth. But ultimately, He knows what I'm missing. And I'm starting to ache for it so bad I'd start selling pieces of my soul to find it.

Not quite to that point yet.

Unless you know a wealthy buyer?

I kid, but only a little.

I'm rambling. I'll stop now.

Here's to Tuesday -- may it, in the gentlest and classiest way possible--beat the hell out of Monday.