the past few days have felt a lot like watching a star die.

My night last night felt like a huge tragic plane crash that made the sound of a moth fluttering around a light bulb.

I settled for feeling content in my unwillingness to process life, when in reality I was attempting to tight rope the wire between keeping it all together and completely losing it. And when you're running you're bound to trip over the line. I tripped all over it. I took the entire line with me when I went down, too. I tore apart the entire mechanism.

A huge part of me wants to just stay curled up in the fetal position at the bottom and wait till it's all over. I sort of just want to dig a hole in the sand and lay in it and feel the ocean tide pull in and carry me away forever. I could kind of just close my eyes and wait till it's over.

The relentless rebel in me wants to run the fuck away. Far, far, far away. Run where mountains dominate the landscape and you can actually see stars (dying or not). I often fantasize about becoming a true vagabond. All the freedom, none of the responsibility. Just me and my dirty bag pack. And a knife in my boots.

The alcoholic in me...well...you know what the alcoholic in me wants to do.

And I have to wonder- again? Why is this happening again? I had almost three solid tearless weeks. The sun was putting freckles on my face, people were outside making music, I didn't really have to wear shoes.

I should be happy, dammit.

I didn't mean to trip. It just sort of happened. I need to pull myself together. Seriously.

The saddest part in all of this is that God provided me this perfectly comfortable landing space among uneven concrete with rusty nails sticking up from it. I chose the concrete. I chose the freaking concrete. Almost every time I choose the concrete.

Why did I choose the concrete?

Again.

And it seems like every time I land hard on the concrete, I wake up the next morning to rain.

For some reason, it's a whole hell of a lot harder to accept grace to a grey sky.


I just pray that God keeps the safe landing there for me even when I refuse to fix my eyes on it. So at least when I trip and fall, I'm not landing on concrete. I just want to be ok. I'm tired of throwing darts at the map and always having it land in the middle of the ocean.

So, I'm not giving into any of the aforementioned options. I'm back to losing my life to Him again. All over again. It's a difficult thing, you know. Sometimes it feels like walking uphill through sand. And thankfully, God is making it impossible for me to keep ignoring Him. He's all up in my grill. Telling me once again to quit walking the line and to quit choosing broken bones over a soft heart.

Lord, stay close to me. Stay obvious to me. And bring me out of the desert...again.