Grasping at the Wind

So I've discovered that working out like a mad person pretty much negates my need for sleep. It all seems very counter-intuitive to me, but the more energy I expend during the day, the more wired I am at night. I wonder if there is a limit to this?

Anyway, I'm down to about 3-4 hours of sleep a night. That means a lot of time to talk to people, read, play video games, etc... I alternate between distracting myself from the the contemplations of life and lying on my bed in deep reflection. So I can't say I'm indulging in escapism, just breakism.

Do I feel guilty about how my last relationship ended? Yes, if I'm honest about it. I don't like knowing I'm the one who did the hurting at the last. I'd much rather have been horribly mistreated so I could feel free of any responsibility. But that just isn't how it happened. My own personal hurt was slow and steady, culminating into a gnawing need for something to change. But who was to blame? When compatibility is the issue, when you discover maybe you didn't fit someone as well as you thought, who can you point the finger at? Especially when at the end, you still consider the other a good person.

All this makes self-reflection rather difficult. I want to see clearly the mistakes I made, to know how to avoid a repeat future, but I'm having a hard time pinpointing it. If I had to do it all again, I think I would probably do everything exactly the same way, because my feelings were always genuine and I think my actions always honest. So what now? What do I take away from this?

And how many times to I go through this same line of thinking, to come again to an answerless dispersion of thoughts. With Passover coming, I feel desperate to see my sins clearly, to make things right somehow. What is the conclusion of the matter?

How do you atone for something you don't regret? Do you? And am I wrong to have no regrets? I loved with all my heart, I learned with all my heart, and I made my choices with all my heart. But at the end of it all, there is hurt, there are scars, there is the need for healing. Logically, my mind tells me that pain is the evidence of something done wrong. And herein lies my dilemna-my need to discover what my fatal mistake must have been. Because my internal logic doesn't just believe that pain is the evidence of something done wrong, but something *I* did wrong.

Ah, vanity. I'm grasping at the wind.

Hello World!

Hello World! Could you please provide me with a printf of my life? I’d like to evaluate the output and revise the code accordingly. (//Adding comments for clarity). Several do-while loops are running simultaneously, and it’s hard to keep track. Blowing bubbles with my gum while typing on my keyboard (if jaw is sore, then spit out gum and end loop). Flexing my leg muscles in sequence while rotating my ankle (if something pops, end loop). Reflecting on my past while contemplating my future (infinite do-while). Renaming machine learning attributes while listening to emo/indie/alternative/rock (if emo penetrates skull, end loop). Perhaps I need to go through this line my line, defining all variables and checking for errors. Sometimes I miss a semi-colon or two, such a minute detail, and I find myself completely derailed and on the floor in a heap. The next step is to run diagnostics on my knees, and recompile. I’ve been a bit slow getting to diagnostics mode this time, and my finger is sore from jamming the compile button so many times (Fatal Error!). I’m getting there though, and it will be time to write new code soon, but there is evaluation that needs to be done first, structure defined, clear logic planned. There are risks to take… if I get it wrong the crash could be damaging. Truncated logic bits scattered amiss. But I have to try anyway, to get the architecture right.

Because what’s the point of a program of do-while loops that doesn’t actually DO anything? I aspire to be more than just a “Hello World!”.

Oscillations

I oscillate between moments of contentment and extreme emotional distress. I wish I could control it better, but I suppose I've always been one to go to extremes. I don't really know how to halfway do things, so I'm either in turbo drive or I'm not going anywhere. I haven't figured out yet how to harness my energy and make it consistent. This is particularly a struggle in spiritual matters. I find myself going through periods of zeal and vigor followed by shear ladeocean laziness.

I also find that I seem to be out of sych with people sometimes. Something that seems like a fair sacrifice or a worthy challenge or an obvious reaction will seem like going overboard to others. I don't mind this, but I do wonder if I really am a bit crazy.

If I could just permanently switch myself onto extreme God-seaking mode, I'd be golden. In the meantime, I'll continue to struggle with myself.

The Race

The sun will rise again, and I'll wake to its warm yellow-joy rays shearing the night from my skin.
The rain will fall again, and it will rinse clean the blood spattering of my sins (they're living waters, you know).
Another Passover, another Pentecost, another re-affirmation of covenant and promise.
Take the momentum and run,
There's a race to be won.

Demand Response

Well cyberspace, what shall I tell you today?

I haven't a clue. My brain is clogged with unfinished thoughts. And I really, really want to go skydiving. That probably sounds completely illogical, but emotional strain makes me crave extreme, adrenaline-pumped, experiences. Perhaps it's escapism. Actually, scratch that, I know it's escapism.

I wonder sometimes if my fundamentals for evaluating the world are wrong. That's mostly because I know I don't yet have enough of the mind of Christ in me so say that I'm not missing anything crucial in my assessment of situations. I think I'd rather be dead than imprisoned. Doesn't that sound horrible? When I feel held back and my growth stunted, I'll viciously fight to break free--that is, when there's a clear challenge before me.

Relationships are hard because I can't always identify what the challenges should be. I have a tendancy to bend around people, to try to make myself what is needed, but sometimes I bend too far and then I snap. I did this recently, and now I have to figure out how to tell the person involved that our synchronization wasn't natural. I want to be a giver, and I'm striving to learn what Godly femininity should mean. Submission is important to me, but I also think it is important for me to encourage whoever I'm with to be the best they can be. But if the person doesn't want to be pushed, I have to submit anyway, and that has a tendancy to leave me frustrated. In a way, I guess I feel it limits me, because in driving others I can also drive myself. Maybe I just need to learn to relax. But it's that whole finish the race, fight the good fight, thing. Sometimes I get the urge to reach out to others and drag them toward the finish line with me. Meanwhile I often find myself neglecting the things I need to do to ensure my salvation. How hypocritical of me. But I often feel it would be so much easier to surrender completely to God if someone were holding a gun to my head and demanding I curse Him.

So how was that, cyberspace?

I'll bare all...

Funny how things work... I had a whole blog written, something pretty raw, and with an accidental slip of the finger, it was gone.

It wasn't the kind of thing I could rewrite.

Something totally different is about to come out instead.

I moved a lot as a kid, and because of that I think I developed some insecurities with myself. I never really saw my long-term value to others, because I was never long-term with others. The hardest move was from Pennsylvania to Long Island, because I went from the mountains to the suburbs. I'd been a city kid before that, but in the mountains I found something that appealed to me--freedom. I don't know if I've ever been happier than in that year and a half I spent wandering the woods and riding my bike over gravel roads.

But in the suburbs of Long Island there was none of this. I wasn't allowed to ride my bike past the block because it wasn't safe (not that there was anywhere fun to ride), and the kids at school were much harsher, more judgmental than they had been in Pennsylvania. Couple that with slowing adolescent metabolism and I was suddenly the overweight shy kid in junior high. I was a prime target for teasing and attack.

I rode the school bus home every day, and this one boy started sitting next to me uninvited, spending the entire half-hour trip telling me how much he liked me. My blushing was embarrassing. Even my skeptical self started to believe he was genuine after months of this. Every day, asking me out and me shaking my head 'no'--mostly because I was too shy and awkward with boys to manage much else.

And then one day it changed. One day he sat next to me, one of his friends in the seat across, and told me I was fat, and ugly, and that he'd never go out with someone like me. I was trapped, forced to stare out the window and hold back tears as they verbally abused me and shattered what little hope I'd had that maybe someone found me desirable.

Of course, everyone has stories like that. It's funny how things that happen to you as a kid can stick with you and feel so significant even later on. I grew out of my awkward stage, and feel relatively comfortable with myself now, but the truth is, I learned doubt from that experience.

And now, here, looking back on a relationship that ended with an unwillingness to do everything needed for our future, I wonder if it was a joke as well. And I wonder what it will take to make me trust again.

This childhood memory has been forward in my mind lately, and I'm figuring that means it's related to what I'm feeling now. A whole lot of insecurity.

But what's the proper response? I've thought of how liberating it might be to erase all hope, all dreams, all aspirations, to be a current of the wind, intangible, something you can't even point to and say, "there". And in the next thought I've been angry with myself, refusing to give up on dreaming, refusing to be discouraged.

And I've gotten reckless, craving adrenaline and danger. Driving dangerously, training for a marathon that's already doing damage, looking for something to push my limits. I want to do something incredibly stupid. That probably sounds self-destructive, but that's not the impetus. The point is survival, to feel alive, to refuse to let myself grow numb and curl up in a cocoon of anti-socialism.

And so the recklessness will likely continue, in every way. I'll bare myself, and bare I'll stand. I'll open my emotions up, open myself up to the criticism of the world. Tell me what you see. Tell me! I want to know. How desperately I want to know... Am I a disease that ruins a good thing? Am I too critical, too harsh? Could I ever be a good wife, a good mother? Or is there just too much work I have to do to get there? Maybe I'm just too independent. Is there someone out there who I won't drive into the ground with my over-achieving personality? Can I slow down long enough to settle down? I'm so restless sometimes... Tell me what you see. And maybe it will help me become a better Christian, a better daughter, a better friend, a better soldier of the truth.

Yet I haven't a clue who I'm talking to, posting on a blog no one knows I'm using.

Please tell me.