Mornings are the Hardest

Because you wake up and then you remember.

And the pain is so fresh, like a raw wound exposed to the elements and you can't put your finger on why it burns so much because the wound is only figurative and only you can see it. But everyone else knows it's there which makes it that much worse. So you push on forward because you don't know what else to do, and you throw yourself into the shower so that you can convince yourself that you're not crying--that's just water streaming down your face, like always. Because today is just like any other day.

And you keep moving so that time doesn't stand still and you aren't stuck between minutes and hours thinking about what could have been and what should have been. You force yourself to remember the reality of the situation and then you busy yourself before it can truly sink in so that you don't have to sit down with another box of tissues and waste them on mucus, tears and non-productive coughs because you're tired of having to change your garbage can three times a day. It's a waste of bags and you want to be as sustainable as possible.

Lunch tastes like sawdust because your nose is still too stuffed up from the tears you refused to cry a few minutes ago just so your mother wouldn't see you. Because she feels it too, you think, and you just don't want her to anymore. And everyone keeps telling you that sometimes, things just don't work out or everything happens for a reason or this is just a mountain on the path of life and then you're in the car and you hear the song on Christian radio playing telling you to tell the mountain to move and it will move and you open your mouth and nothing. You can't even scream. You have no words because you have drained yourself of the will to argue and are resigned to the situation. You drive and keep driving and your heart keeps telling the mountain to move, but who is listening all the way down there but God?

Ah, God.
You are afraid you have stopped believing but you know you haven't because you love God. You know He's got everything under control and then you start crying again because you ask him why, why WHY would He do this to you after all the prayers and pleas and bargains and promises that you've committed to for the rest of your life? You are screaming the Our Father in your head because you want to make sure you believe it. You yell the Hail Mary as loud as possible, until every blood vessel boils with your belief so that your disbelief can be ruled out. You say the Glory Be in the quietest of whispers as you bow your head because you don't care anymore. You don't know anymore. You love God and you know He loves you but why, why, why. And then you wonder if you're a good person because that's the only logical explanation for when things take a turn for the worst.

The worst. The funny thing is that you know there are worse things going on in the world. You aren't orphaned or hungry, homeless or abused. You have a loving, supportive family and they are behind you one-hundred-and-ten-percent. But in your world, the view is different. You have grown so accustomed to the way things are in your world that this giant avalanche of change has thrown your axis off-kilter and you're not moving at the speed of light, hurtling through space and it's so fast that when you put your hands out, no one. There is no one there to catch you. There are worse things in the world than this, you say to yourself. Think of the starving children in Africa and the people being murdered in their homes and the child soldiers and the kids who have no clean water to take their medication with. Your problems are nothing.

Nothing. The word resonates through dinner and through the rest of the evening, as you sip on your tea, and have ice cream cake for your mom's birthday. Haagen-Daz is delicious and coffee ice cream is your favorite, but it's salty, probably because you've just finished crying for the fourth time today and feel so broken-hearted that you don't have the will to try and make things better anymore because in the next few minutes you'll remember, again. So, you work out. You get ready for bed. And Pandora is playing on your brand-new iHome and you close your eyes as you stand in the center of your dilapidated room, still messy from the attempts to unpack boxes from the end of the semester move-out. You crawl into bed unprepared because you told yourself already that there would be no crying on these wonderful, comfy sheets. You've been waiting weeks to sleep in your own bed and you aren't going to ruin it.

And you sink into the covers, smear some Chapstick on your lips and you scream your prayers one more time, hoping that tomorrow morning, you don't remember anymore.

The Waiting Game

It is currently 10:09pm, except my clock says 22:09:45 because I live my life on military time. Less confusing.

I just spent an entire day with my family and it was fantastic. We went to an amazing outdoor store, Cabela's, and ate at the local Cracker Barrel! I had me my chicken 'n dumplins and all was well. This morning was church and then a light brunch and off adventuring we went. There were moments, though, throughout the day that I was caught unawares by such strong emotions that my body couldn't figure out whether ro make me cry, laugh or both at the same time. And now, my stomach is in knots.

The worst part about being a nursing student? The waiting.
Every semester, people get cut. And while the cuts may not be permanent, it's frightening to think about how your entire life could change within the span of a single hour. It's scary to think that in this world, a few decimal points is all it takes to change the course of your college career. It's scary to think about how different your life could be between 11:59pm and midnight because when grades are posted, time makes all the difference.

I think the worst part is that we work so hard as students and endure so much and to think that my entire life is bundled up in one little number angers me! Because I don't think the measurement of my skills and abilities and all I have achieved is correctly represented by numbers, letters or a combination thereof.

And now it is 22:32:29 and I am still waiting... but that's okay.
Because tomorrow the wait will be over and then I can start to move once more.

A Fine, Fine Line

Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, I was a music major in addition to my majors in nursing and biology. Now, I am just a nursing major.

Tonight, I was able to go to the junior recital of one of my fellow music majors, one I met in freshman year and have been friends with since, even though I'm no longer part of the program of study. And she was magnificent. I could just hear and feel how much her music had grown and was awed by it and a little envious...because if I was still playing, we would have shared the staged tonight. 

She, singing a wide variety of songs, sang a song from Avenue Q and there was a line that struck me. It said "There's a fine, fine line between love and a waste of your time." For some reason, this got me thinking...is this with all kinds of love or just romantic love? Can your other relationships actually be a waste of time? 

I think I know the answer but don't want to admit it. Loving is a difficult task, especially when you've realized that not only is it unreturned, it is under appreciated. But then I remember that we are called to love other people and am reminded that Jesus loved others even when he was hated. And if you don't like the Christian perspective, look at Buddha, the Dalai Lama, Mohammed...all of these major figures from different faith backgrounds loved the poor, the angry, the heartless and the cruel because they needed love the most, and not because they deserved it.

So even though my rational brain tells me... love is a waste of time a lot of the time, my heart knows better.