I promised myself I would cook or bake or do anything once I moved. And now I've moved and no cooking. Instead I put some strawberries in my cereal and called it good.
I thought I could fix it. Someone broke into my apartment three weeks ago, while my roommate and I were at home, probably with intentions to assault or do worse to either myself or my roommate. Thankfully (gross understatement), this person was scared away when he opened the door to my roommate's room and she woke up and said my name. And I thought I could fix it. I could go through the steps to make myself and my dear friend safe. We could move to a nicer neighborhood, we could lock the windows this time, leave the lights on, we could get alarms to put on the windows and the doors, we could get more locks. But we still have to go outside, we still need to breathe the fresh air through an open window sometime. Something could always happen.
To make myself feel better I told myself that worse things happen. People die, people starve, people have cancer and they live in war-ravaged third-world countries, they are soldiers in Iraq and serve their country and see unspeakable things, come home and are expected to fit right back in. I used logic to fix it. I was annoyed when others, specifically my lovely roommate, responded emotionally. When people asked about the story, I said (in a robot voice) "It was very very scary," because it's too scary to tell. I relied on a relationship to give me some joy through the time and to take away some of my stress--perhaps too much and in the wrong way. For a reason I will learn to respect that relationship broke. My plan broke. I broke.
Thinking if I can just move I'll be fine. But then the water heater was turned off and I had a minor meltdown. The boy left, and I had an excuse to cry. I scraped my car trying to get out of our new garage. Our new-to-us washing machine wouldn't drain. My former landlord called and yelled at me and tried to scare me on purpose to make me feel bad--it worked--and I had major meltdown. I have to deal with what I did to a certain friend. And it's all so heavy.
And I think if I can just cook, I'll feel better.
I don't think that's going to work out the way I plan it. Just like everything else. My plan made me hopeful for a moment, but. But. But I know I can pray, and I know God is there. And so is my family and my friends. So I'm thankful for faith, hope and most definitely for love, even when it's difficult to see it. And everything happens for a reason and I'll be a better person, right? That is going to happen? And maybe tomorrow I'll cook something.
Photo stolen from http://www.flickr.com/photos/32752680@N00/3649513996/ because I can't find my camera in the rubble of the move.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
These Are the Breaks
I promised myself I would cook or bake or do anything once I moved. And now I've moved and no cooking. Instead I put some strawberries in my cereal and called it good.
I thought I could fix it. Someone broke into my apartment three weeks ago, while my roommate and I were at home, probably with intentions to assault or do worse to either myself or my roommate. Thankfully (gross understatement), this person was scared away when he opened the door to my roommate's room and she woke up and said my name. And I thought I could fix it. I could go through the steps to make myself and my dear friend safe. We could move to a nicer neighborhood, we could lock the windows this time, leave the lights on, we could get alarms to put on the windows and the doors, we could get more locks. But we still have to go outside, we still need to breathe the fresh air through an open window sometime. Something could always happen.
To make myself feel better I told myself that worse things happen. People die, people starve, people have cancer and they live in war-ravaged third-world countries, they are soldiers in Iraq and serve their country and see unspeakable things, come home and are expected to fit right back in. I used logic to fix it. I was annoyed when others, specifically my lovely roommate, responded emotionally. When people asked about the story, I said (in a robot voice) "It was very very scary," because it's too scary to tell. I relied on a relationship to give me some joy through the time and to take away some of my stress--perhaps too much and in the wrong way. For a reason I will learn to respect that relationship broke. My plan broke. I broke.
Thinking if I can just move I'll be fine. But then the water heater was turned off and I had a minor meltdown. The boy left, and I had an excuse to cry. I scraped my car trying to get out of our new garage. Our new-to-us washing machine wouldn't drain. My former landlord called and yelled at me and tried to scare me on purpose to make me feel bad--it worked--and I had major meltdown. I have to deal with what I did to a certain friend. And it's all so heavy.
And I think if I can just cook, I'll feel better.
I don't think that's going to work out the way I plan it. Just like everything else. My plan made me hopeful for a moment, but. But. But I know I can pray, and I know God is there. And so is my family and my friends. So I'm thankful for faith, hope and most definitely for love, even when it's difficult to see it. And everything happens for a reason and I'll be a better person, right? That is going to happen? And maybe tomorrow I'll cook something.
Photo stolen from http://www.flickr.com/photos/32752680@N00/3649513996/ because I can't find my camera in the rubble of the move.
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