Dream on, Kid

Fantasies of being someone else

is not really about the belief

the hope

that it is possible

this truth now fails to evade me

and I have made a sensible amount of peace with it

You see,

it actually boils down to that hour

that minute

those few seconds where I escape the madness of being myself

therein lies the cause of craving

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In Which the Wave Ends

I knew the wave of mania would end at some point. It stuck around for a good while, which was fortunate. But I’ve been expecting it for days, and the end finally arrived today, riding in with a cloud of rain as opposed to the cloud of fire that accompanied Moses and the Israelites. During these times I tend to have a lot to say and absolutely no words to say them with.  It’s when you’re restless, but you’re struggling with idleness. Your hands search for anything and everything as a means of occupation. You clean the bathroom. You sweep the hall, the kitchen, the laundry-room. You wash the dishes three times. Four times. You wipe the stove top and the counter down. You open the window, close the window, open the window again.  You pick at the strings on your guitar, but your fingers and your mind are too disconnected at the moment. It’s not music. It’s noise. And you finally force yourself to sit down and accept that you don’t really know what to do anymore.  You’re itching for some sign of life. A roll of thunder. A burst of laughter. Something. Anything. But the weight of silence, which first came crashing down, seeps into your skin and you slowly accept that there’s nothing. Nothing but the sound of the fan whirring on medium and your shallow breathing to fill the void. It’s these times that I take a deep breath and tell myself, “all you’ve got to do is survive. Just keep surviving. It doesn’t matter if you don’t do anything productive at all. Eat cookies, drink water, watch television, read, don’t read, daydream, toss, turn, settle down or don’t.  Just don’t give in.”

Hope

There was something here even when there was nothing

Something not tangible

Not detectable

Not traceable

But here all along

Hidden in the darkness

With stealth

With purpose

Waiting to be found

Invisible to the naked eye

Always elusive

Forever escaping our grasp

That something begs that you hunt for it

Desires that you catch it midflight

Requires a chase

Dedication

Drive

It is not easily found

Nor easily retained once acquired

Because nothing will always drive its force deeper in deeper within

And spread its empire until it has conquered every square inch

But that something thrives in the midst

Even when it has shrank to a fraction of its size and worth

Waiting

Knowing

Believing that you will grasp it and shield it from all else

Protect it

Grow it

And thrive alongside

Because something was here even when there was nothing

And you’ve just got to find it

In Which I’m Learning to Continue

I tell you one thing about depression/anxiety: they truly do make you feel like you have missed out on a chunk of your life.  There will be moments in which you question if some memory of your is accurate or being altered by mental illness stained glasses.  There will also be times where you try to recall who you were before they developed or if the personality traits you have now are actually yours.  In the end you sort of get this feeling that you have to start all over again. Like, “Nope. Scratch that. *balls up life in a wad* Time for a new start.”  Then when you realize that this is COMPLETELY impossible you feel stuck and disappointed.  There’s also the burden of shame that comes along with it because some of the things you said/did during your lowest moments are things you want to erase.  I remember when I was a little kid, probably 7 or 8, I borrowed a stuffed reindeer from my friend. That’s right. I used to borrow stuffed animals from people. AIN’T NO SHAME IN MY HUSTLE!!! But my friend actually brought it with her to school one day and I liked it so much that I asked if I could take it home with me.  She consented to the slumber party and parted ways with her reindeer for the night.  Well I promise I have absolutely no idea how it happened (swuuuuurrrr I do not) but some time between getting home from school and going to bible study one of the antlers came clean off. I mean I have no idea what ever happened to it. The whole antler disappeared. I felt so guilty about breaking her precious toy that at night when I went to bed and said my prayers I secretly prayed for the day to start all over.  The prayer went a bit like this: “Dear Jesus. Please send me back in time. When I wake up in the morning let it be today again. Amen.”  I was sure that I was going to wake up and start that day completely over.  You couldn’t tell me that it was going to be a new day…until the next morning when it was in fact a new day.  It was then I learned that it’s not possible to go back and start over all of the time. It’s possible to go back and right a wrong sometimes.  It’s possible to pack up your bags and just leave everything. But it’s still impossible to completely start over. At the end of the day you’ll still be you and what has happened will still have happened.

In society we like the idea of new. Feeling brand new, buying brand new, being brand new.  We don’t really feel comfortable with continuing past/through the present. Especially when the situation is uncomfortable or upsetting. But much of life is uncomfortable and upsetting. The first day of daycare/kindergarten.  Taking the exam for your license.  Moving into your own home. Breaking up with someone.  Losing a friend.  Losing a loved one. Starting a new job.  It’s inevitable that things will occur that we have to endure instead of enjoy.  And in the process of living you’re going to make a mistake, so you’ve got that to deal with on top of everything.  It can be an overwhelming feeling that just makes you want a re-do button or an emergency exit. In fact you can feel pressured into believing that you have to restart in order to make it. I’m learning now that it’s really okay to just continue.  Even if you’ve made the mistake or a couple. Just keep going (don’t keep making the mistake but don’t quit either).  We’re also put in a position of having to meet certain goals by certain times (like getting married by a certain age or completing school by a certain age) and if you don’t reach that goal in that time frame people will express to you that you should just quit. Find something new.  You truly have to know what’s right for you. If that goal is still your goal then continue.  Hell, if you reach the goal you still have to continue on to the next goal. Life isn’t stationary nor is it reversible.  You can stop. You can try to turn around, but your days are still going to tick on regardless of your own direction.

I always get mixed up somewhere in these posts and I’m pretty sure I did in that second paragraph. So I’ll give an example from something recent to help tie my loose ends.  I decided to enter a lyric competition just to get my feet wet. I’m not saying that I’m….I don’t know any super songwriters that you guys may also like but I’m going to say Lianne La Havas because the woman is a queen with impeccable writing abilities. But I figured it would be worth a try to shake things up, I guess.  Well I already prepared myself to not win because for one I’m an amateur writer who needs to improve upon my skills. Regardless of my lowered expectations I was still disappointed that I didn’t win (like how you Saints fans feel. Y’all should just accept that the Saints haven’t gotten it together since that superbowl win…..).  You may be like “Amber this example is terrible. What’s the point if you didn’t have expectations?” Oddly enough, I expected not to win so I already asked myself what I planned to do if I didn’t. I wondered would I just give up? Say writing isn’t for me? Take the loss and cry about it then decide on another path?  Then I remembered how I got started writing lyrics. The summer that I dropped out of college I was lost in the sauce. I was struggling with the idea of having a future and a purpose.  Earlier that year I had stumbled across the video for “Ghost of You” by MCR (and if you haven’t seen it you should because I cried real tears after watching it. REAL TEARS).  After falling in love with the song and video I started to listen to their other music. Then I would read their interviews and magazine articles because they are hilarious. And I ended up reading the story behind the song “The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You” which I won’t fully detail but the song is based off of Gerard Way’s drug addiction. After I read that I could not listen to that song. I just could not do it. Only after 4 years could I listen to it without dying. Weird, I know. But his whole story about his struggle with depression and drugs and how he was a complete mess when they first started the band almost killed me.  In fact in one of their movies where they revealed a little of their tour life Gerard collapsed under the influence of drugs and had to be helped up by a band mate. When he got up he said in this slurred drug/alcohol induced voice, “I’m going to be alright.” And you know I cried like Prince said doves do. Because he survived and he began to use his platform to address his past and help others who had similar struggles. It was then that I decided I wanted to write songs. I’m not a musical protegee. I was in band and took piano, but I’m not…Beethoven or anyone. I still play piano at an intermediate level after SEVEN YEARS! But I want to write because I want to share a message with people.  Not one of judgement or hatred or even pity. But I wanted to be like, “It’s okay to feel this way. You’re not alone. You’re not broken,” because at that time I felt alone and broken. And here’s this alternative rock dude in a group of dudes who almost all did drugs (I think Ray was the only one who didn’t) whose telling kids to live on. So I didn’t win the competition, but I know what I want. And therefore I will continue.

I used to have the quitter syndrome. When things got tough or didn’t go my way then I would just quit. Throw in the towel. Throw in two towels. Throw out the towels with the bath water and the baby. Then these past few weeks I started to watch Steven Furtick online because I work every Sunday so I don’t get to go to church. My attitude had gotten extremely rotten especially after it was revealed to me that two coworkers were speaking poorly about me when I wasn’t around.  It was to the point where I was using verbal profanity which as you know is not my thing.  Then it clicked in my head that getting mad was not helping. I wanted to quit that job but what then? So I decided to turn back to Jesus. I backslid on backsliding. Jesus had to be a fence. He had to be the whole darned house with the way I was feeling.  And one of the sermons Pastor Furtick taught was about chasing your purpose. Then another one was about Jonah and the whale. And the two meshed together for me because the sermon about Jonah taught that God’s provision is not always our preference.  And the one about purpose taught that purpose is not stationary; we have to chase it.  So now I’m thinking that there’s a time for everything. It may not be my time, but my purpose is still the same. This may not be exactly what I want right now because I would prefer to have a stable career, a Jeep Wrangler, my own house, etc but my needs are met. My bills are never past due.  My family helps look out for me even though I don’t deserve it and didn’t earn it. And it’s okay. I see some of my peers doing really well in school or on their jobs and I start to feel bad that that’s not me. Like they need to have a recall on Amber’s because I’m not functioning properly, but I have to remind myself that we all move at our own pace. I’m probably moving slower because I’ve accumulated some baggage on the way, but I’m learning to drop a piece of luggage here and there to lighten my load. It is legitimately okay.  Another point Pastor Furtick made was that we can’t tell our stories too soon because if we tell them too early we’ll only be able to tell of the pain, but not the purpose/provision. And I realize I have been trying to tell my story completely too early.  When it’s storming all you can see is the rain and wind. All you can speak on is the storm so it starts to feel like there will never be any sunshine. But if you wait until after the storm, when the sun is out, you can speak on the rain, the wind, the sun, everything. That’s why I say it’s okay to continue.  You can be Gerard speaking about addiction after he overcame it. You can be like Maya Angelou or Viola Davis. Like Oprah. If you feel like you can’t start over, it’s all good. If you feel like some screw up and you’ve messed up opportunities you’ve had you don’t have to have a redo. Continue.  Because there really is someone out there like you who could use you to share your story. To inspire them. To remind them that they can make it. Just keep going.

PS: I never did tell my friend about that reindeer. I guess she forgot about it or she just let me have it. In fact, it’s at my house right now…..With one antler……And I still haven’t forgiven My Chemical Romance for making us believe they were getting back together.  Fallout Boy did it. Why can’t y’all!?!?!

In Which I am Lukewarm

First name Luke; Last name Warm.  Middle Name…me. Actually that really wouldn’t make very much sense.  Scratch that.  When you want something in life and you try to get it only to fail, you probably will make another attempt.  If you fail three times you may just give up.  If you’re persistent, unlike myself, you’ll keep pushing regardless of the past failures.  You could be like Abraham Lincoln and his numerous presidency attempts. Or like Steve Jobs who got fired from his own company.  You could be like those people, but this post is about someone who isn’t like those people. This post is about me. That’s right; everything is about me. ME ME ME ME! Scratch that as well. Very little in this world is about me, but due to this blog being an extension of my conscious thoughts then this post is about…well, me.

I wish that I could say that I am not an one hitter quitter. To some degree I can truthfully say that.  I’m more like a two hitter quitter; I don’t even make it to fully being out before I toss down my bat and trot off the field. But oddly enough I’m the person who commits this same act for a good twelve to twenty times and it annoys me to no end.  I hate to be stuck in the middle of a feeling.  If I fail I want to give up, but I also want to try again and it creates a revenue of internal tension.  I tend to chastise myself for not succeeding, but then I’ll chastise myself for thinking that I was going to succeed in the first place.  I most often wish that I could happily succeed or remain content with failure instead of teetering back and forth.  Some days I’ll have these extreme episodes of mania in which everyone is great, I’m hopeful for the future, and things are looking up.  Other days everyone is trash, the future is trash, and things are looking trashy. It’s predictably tiring being inconsistent. Imagine hopping a fence every few minutes.  At some point you just want to stick to one side instead of constantly climbing, jumping, landing, and repeating.  I relate this analogy with failure/success, but what I really mean is happiness/unhappiness. These four factors intertwine so it’s a pick and choose sorta thing. I either want to be completely content with not being happy or just be happy.  I hate being so up and down because it makes me feel unstable.  Am I pessimistic or optimistic?  Am I hopeful or not?  I’ve learned the best way to describe myself is an optimist with depression because that best explains my ability to see the silver lining in a cloud or the rain in the rainbow.

You’re never going to meet someone who is full of sunshine 100% of the time.  You’re guaranteed to meet someone who sees darkness in everything, though.  Why is this?  Because we all face disappointments. Whether we meet disappointing people or end up with disappointing results. People who never see the good in anything are people who have looked for the good only to have the bad poke their eyes out.  If you get let down too many times you’re not even going to get your hopes up about the next time because disappointment in an inexplicable feeling.  It’s almost worse than anger or fear.  Remember those television shows where the teenage son/daughter sneaks out of the house to go to a rave?  When they end up getting caught their actor/actress parent shakes his/her head in disbelief and with puppy dog eyes says, “I’m just so disappointed in you.”  And that just breaks little Susie’s heart. Frankly, my mother did not believe in disappointment. She believed in the rod. But there are times when I know that I have disappointed her because I can read it in her eyes when she’s lecturing me.  It’s not anger, which I would honestly prefer.  It’s a sadness that goes beyond her ability to just say she’s sad.  She’s disappointed.  Disappointment hurts because it means that we had expectations. You’re already investing your emotions into a situation or a person.  When things go sour it stings a little less when you weren’t hopeful about the outcome, but disappointment means you were really shooting for the best.  I dislike disappointment; who doesn’t?  But when I get disappointed I blame myself because I almost feel like I could have saved myself by not even getting my hopes up in the first place.  As a result, I just don’t even want to get my hopes up. I look at every possible opportunity as likely to fall through because thoughts of what could have been will bury you alive. When I received a call back from a job that I applied for I was elated. It paid more. It was at home which meant that I could travel a bit more as long as I had my laptop.  And it wouldn’t involve the drama that accompanies an office/location setting.  I had already gotten to the drug test part of the prerequisites when I received another call letting me know the position had been rescinded.  To say that I was heartbroken would be an understatement.  I think I sat in the tub until the water got cold and my skin got wrinkly just wondering what went wrong.  I was…..DISAPPOINTED. In that same way I hate days of mania because it feels great to be overly excited and bubbly about today, tomorrow, and Tuesday.  But I know that this feeling will pass, and at some point I will have a day of overwhelming darkness that I can barely crawl out of.

I’m doing this thing now where I’m just ignoring virtually every text message that comes to my phone.  Mostly because for the past couple of years I’ve been telling my family members that I don’t celebrate birthdays and just forget about sending me any birthday messages.  And yet no one listened to me. NO ONE. Like come on guys. It’s not that difficult to treat this as a regular day at my request. Some people literally did it just because I specifically asked them not to. Which I would say frustrated me, but it did more than frustrated me. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to use profanity more.  And as surprising as it may be I don’t curse aloud or at people. I tend to use profanity strictly in my writing. Oh the hypocrisy.  Then when I told them how much I think my birthday is garbage I get these essay long messages about God and being special and I just really don’t care. I don’t want your sugar coated messages and your sympathy because I question all sympathy to a certain degree.  Are you truly listening to and understanding what I am saying prior to sympathizing or are you just sympathizing because that’s what you know to do? If it’s the latter, which a predominate amount of it is, then just leave me alone. Simple as that. My temperament is one that calms as I am left on my own.  If you’ve upset me then it’s best just to let me take time by myself to forgive/forget. If you’re constantly in my face about whatever the situation is then you’re serving as a reminder of what has upset me and I just get more annoyed. I literally just need a nap to calm down. I’m worse than the little kids who get grouchy so you force them to go to sleep, which is all they ever needed.  And I am aware that as a Christian I should care about what God says about me, but right now I don’t. That sounds terrible, I know.  I’ll do a separate post on that at a later time.  Right now I just want everyone to leave me be because if you tell me all these great things about myself, regardless of whether you mean it or not, when the world shows/tells me differently I get…..DISAPPOINTED. (I promise that’s my last time doing that). And I get sick of being disappointed.

There are a couple of great phrases that teachers hang in their classrooms and hipsters use in their description boxes.  One of these is one we’re all familiar with: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”  I’d be lying if I said that this phrase holds absolutely no grain of truth, but I believe it depends on what didn’t kill you. Some things don’t kill you, but make you regret that they didn’t.  Others maim, bruise, and break you.  A few will leave you in a comatose state.  It’s true that disappointment and trials build character, but it is also true that these things can break character as well.  One of the things about going to school, public or private, is that is universalizes the world for you.  To your mother you’re the best thing since indoor plumbing and for years she will tell you so. But when you get to grade school you’ll realize that everyone’s mother thinks they’re the most special human to breathe air so now you’re stuck in a bit of a rut.  You can break free from this by finding what makes you individually special. You can settle into in by going with the crowd and getting lost in the shuffle of things. Or you can have someone throw some dirt over you in the rut because now you’re feeling like you’re not special at all.  We’re all built differently so we will all respond differently.  If something like this fractures a bone as you are pelted with more and more similar situations then you’ll have a full blown break.  And not a clean break either.  True, you must apply pressure to coal to make a diamond, but as has been seen by the influx of coal sales at Lowes in this barbecue season not all coals turn to diamonds.  And some coal won’t even make it to the grill. It’ll be fine dust blowing in the wind somewhere.  People glorify tribulations and disappointments to a certain degree, but we all wish that we could achieve and receive without those things.  No one likes to be disappointed.

I’m really hoping I didn’t make too many errors in this post.  I looked at my last post and almost flipped my computer over. I’ve really got to start proofreading more.  With that being said, I’m off to watch ID and do my songwriting course.

 

In Which I Haven’t Been Reading DM

That’s right. I’ve been slipping. I’m not even going to lie.  BUT…well, I have nothing to add behind that. I’m working on a project at the moment so my mind is elsewhere.  As a result of me not reading DM at the moment, I’m going to do a separate post. Yep. I’m stating the obvious.

My birthday was this past weekend and though I do not celebrate it, I do use it as an excuse to treat myself to something. “TREAT YO SELF!” I’m not even going to admit that I habitually treat myself regardless of the occasion. I am a recovering online shopping addict. Nope; let’s not admit it.  Since I was scheduled to work on my actual birthday I went last Friday and got my tattoo. Well, actually I just half of it done because I refused to pay $400 to have the whole thing done.  Like who would evaaaaaaaaaaa….The original idea was to have the design layered on my left wrist to resemble bangles. It would be black bars and floral vines alternating: three black lines and two vines equating to five total because five is symbolic for grace.  Anyway I ended up with two black lines and one vine because Jesus said, “nah son.” Well my frugality said that, but Jesus probably agreed.  So right now I’m just going to say it means the holy trinity. I plan to get the rest finished later this month though. I have one other tattoo on my inner forearm: a sword with wings. I’ve already told what that tattoo means so I’ll spare the details on it.  I remember when I first got my tattoo with two of my friends.  Everybody told me that anxiety before getting the tat would be worse than the actual pain which is absolutely true.  To say that getting a tattoo is not painful would be false. It does hurt, but depending on your tolerance for pain it will range from “wow this is so annoying. Please hurry up!” to “Lawd, I’m dying. Take me now, lawd. TAKE ME NOW!”  My friend Bianca was the latter. She got a cross on her ankle and we had to literally close her mouth to keep her from screaming out loud.  It was entertaining because she thought the process would be like someone drawing a stick cross with a pencil, but boy was she in for a shock.  On the other hand the pain registers to me as absolutely annoying.  So while Jeff the artist was digging into my poor flesh while trap music played in the background I was outdone. Like come on, Jeff. What are you doing? You need to be tattooing me with three needles at one time to hurry this shading along.  It took roughly around an hour for him to complete and I love it especially because it’s permanent (at this point, I have no choice but to love it) but I honestly love tattoos. I only have two right now because I’m not wealthy enough to spend my funds every time I get an idea for a new one, but if I did I would probably have my left arm sleeve complete by now.  I believe that tattoos, for me at least, are symbolic to healing after something.

I don’t like my brother in law to know that he’s right about something because he went to Ole Miss.  If he went to MSU I’d probably say he was right about everything but he wasted that opportunity now, didn’t he?  HAIL STATE! *clears throat* But my bro in law told me that he used to get tattoos as a form of therapy.  He specifically meant the process in which the tattoo heals because he felt that as it healed he did as well. When I told him that I wanted to get some new ink he immediately knew why. He asked, “What are you going through?” Probably because he’s nosy, but I’ll give him an A+ for his intuitiveness. Now, I don’t particularly look at the healing process as much as I do the initial pain and the final result. Everything in-between is just a necessary evil.  If you’ve got a tattoo then you’re familiar with the entire process; from the actual “needling” to the last day of the two week healing time so you’re aware of what I mean. Well, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself so let me backtrack a little.  I get tattoos as a substitute to self harm.  I’m the type of person who harms and wants to see a physical result of the harm so that I don’t forget. Forget what? I have no idea. I just like to see a mark of some sort.  I decided to translate my more creative thoughts into tattoos so that I can focus on something that would turn out beautiful and still have a story behind it. Maybe that’s why I like self harm to leave marks because then I have a visible remnant of that current moment in my story (HA! Still managed to sneak some story metaphors in. High fives myself).  Moving on.  When I get the strongest urges to self harm I think about tattoo ideas instead.  People ask me all the time why I get tattoos, but I don’t disclose this information to them.  If they choose to see me as a sacrilegious hipster then I let them have that assumption. I reveal myself as I see fit.  This time when I got my ink I bled quite a bit. And my wrist was swollen for three days. The swelling is just now letting up enough to where it doesn’t look like I’m wearing a compression garment on my forearm.  Now I’m in the healing stage in which the top layer of skin is peeling and itches like crazy. I mean like crazy. I forgot how much these things itch.  Thankfully, the time the week is up the damaged skin will have fully peeled away and all that will be left is the new layer of inked skin underneath.

Much of life of is like getting a tattoo. Its initially painful, then uncomfortable, and if you make it through these two phases then you’ll be completely healed and left with something amazing that you’ll keep forever.  There are short cuts to tattoos such a henna and temporary tattoos that wash off after a week or two, but you don’t have as great as a reward if you go the easy route.  I’m literally enjoying the fact that my wrist is rubbing against the side of my laptop because I’m not actually scratching it, but this is as close to scratching as I can get.  I’m fighting the urge to not claw my arm off right now.  But because I don’t want to possibly interfere with the finished product then I’m just bearing through it.  I wish I could skip the pain and the itch and just end up with the tattoo, but it’s not possible.  The same way that much of the goals that I want to attain require that I suffer a while to reach them.  And no one likes suffering.  When I’m suffering I like to sleep all day and give people the side eye when they speak to me. I don’t deal well with suffering even though I am quite used to suffering. It’s also important to remember to clean your tattoo and keep it moisturized to ensure that it heals properly.  In the same way that you need to take very good care of yourself to be sure that you come out on the other side with all your limbs intact.  Have you seen an infected tattoo? It’s beyond description. Google it. (I’m too much like my Sociology teacher. I’ll tell you something is gross and then force you to google it.)  If you don’t follow proper care procedures then you’ll only add to your trauma and risk your own demise.  If  you don’t eat properly when shit hits the fan or you’re not taking your meds then you’re only adding to your burden. It’s not what you want to hear, but it’s what you need to hear. (All notes to self because I’m guilty of both of those things….)

Our pastor likes to speak about holding out through trials and tribulations with the analogy of a pregnant woman. She told the congregation when she was pregnant that she was tired all of the time. Her back would hurt, she had heartburn, and her feet stayed swollen.  All she could think about was life prior to being pregnant. It’s like when your allergies or your sinuses start to wreak havoc in your life and you lose the ability to breathe through both nostrils. It’s only then that you think about life before being stopped up. “Why didn’t I breathe that air a little more happily? Why didn’t I smell the flowers more often???”   Then to make matters worse she was in labor for a long period of time.  And we’ve all seen a movie or television show scene of a woman in labor.  I was in the room with my sister when she was in labor with my nephew and she was high as a kite so she was doing A-okay BUT the lady who came in after her was yelling so loud that I’m sure her baby went deaf for a good two hours.  She sounded like someone was digging a knife into her side for twenty straight minutes.  But after all the pain that she went through she was holding a wrinkly little bundle of joy in her arms.  Even though all babies look like aliens when they’re first born. In the words of my mother: “Jamison came out looking like, ‘take me to your leader.'”  It took me ten minutes to understand what she meant. I can’t wait until Jamison is in his teens so that I can tell him about that. The analogy all boils down to the fact that you have to go through some hurtful situations before you can reap your blessings. Well, I hate to say it but I feel like I’ve been labor for a really really really really long time.  Like, my baby is literally overdue. A good ten years overdue. Like come on dude. Get a move on, kid.  Even with me saying that I know that most good things don’t come easy.  As I said no one like suffering. I’m not a masochist. I don’t get my kicks from being hurt.  But I’ve been sowing things I would like to reap and this growth process is garbage.  Life ain’t fair, but it is what it is.

Anyway I’m off to put some lotion on this thing because I feel like my wrist is not even mine any longer. Who do you belong to? Someone with poison ivy? Jesus be some Calamine lotion…..