Thursday, February 24, 2011

Please Pray

Let me preface this entry by saying that
I believe in prayer.

I believe that God responds to our prayers,
even if it's in ways we don't expect.
I believe that praying for healing for someone
that God heals afflictions,
even now.

God's power is real.

a couple weeks ago I blogged about my grandfather,
my "papa" here.

For the past two years, he's been pretty okay.
I mean,
as "okay" as you can be with a cancer diagnosis.
But it's been pretty non-aggressive, hasn't been spreading.

Until now.

My dad just told me this morning
that Papa's CAT scans revealed that
it HAS been spreading.

And he starts chemotherapy next week.

I've been
and praying
and praying
and praying

that God heals him,
because I know he can.

I want my Papa back.
I hated seeing him so tired and frail and fragile.

To clarify,
I'm not angry with God.

I know that sometimes these things just happen.
Bad stuff happens to good people,
and there's nothing we can do about it.

Maybe I was praying for the wrong thing.
But I can't figure out what else I
have been praying for.

But now my heart is breaking
all over again,
the way it did when I got back from Texas.

Now I'm just praying he makes it through chemo.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Ok, HERE'S the deal. . .

(Whenever I whip that phrase out, you should be scared.)

I'm SICK of Lady Gaga.

Sick and tired.

Her music is catchy, I'll give her that.

She was innovative. . .

up to a point.

And now--

It's just getting out of hand:

This is just creepy.
We like to see your face.
It lets us know you're a real person, and NOT
Hannibal Lecter.

You're incubating? No.
You're just trying to get out of talking to reporters.
News Flash: YOU'RE FAMOUS.

A dress made from MEAT?!
That's not innovative. . .
That's just plain GROSS.

Here's how it is, Lady Gaga:

I think we're all a little tired of what insane
outfit you're going to whip out next.

We're tired of you looking outrageous.

The thing is,
it's not shocking anymore.

It's annoying,
and kind of stupid.

I heard a guy on Chelsea Lately say this the other night:

If you really want to shock us, Lady Gaga,
tone it down a notch

(Ok, so I paraphrased, but you catch my drift.)

If you really want people to talk about you,
subdue the insanity a little bit.

Look like ANYTHING resembling a
normal person.
I think we'll all really appreciate it.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Valentine's Day Sucks.

This year, I promised myself that I would be happy on Valentine's Day, despite being alone. I promised myself that I was okay not having a valentine, that I wouldn't spend all day moping and having a pity party. (Something I'm exceptionally good at.) I took myself on a date; I spent all afternoon at Starbucks, reading, writing in my journal. And I was happy, pleasant, content.

And then a weird smell inside Starbucks drove me away. So I came home.

And now. . .

I'm at home. Sitting on my bed, in my exceedingly messy room, watching Bones on TV. The weird smell sticking in my nose, my stomach going between hunger pains and nausea, and and the black hole in my heart getting bigger by the minute.

Anyone who's ever been inclined to depression, pessimism, or chronic loneliness knows the feeling; The black hole that starts out microscopic, started by that tiny feeling that's merely vague discontent.

Then it sucks into it every good feeling or optimistic thought into it, growing in size, and breeding only more discontent, unhappiness, loneliness.

And there's nothing you or anyone else can do to make it go away. At best, you sleep for a while, and when you wake up, you feel like new.

And this is how I feel right now. Sad, lonely, aching inside.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Something to be excited about

In a contrast from last night's complaints,

Starbucks wants to hire me.

I know. Awesome, right?

I start training next week.


there's another job I'm pretty optimistic about.

*fingers crossed*

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

I feel like complaining today.

So get over it. Seriously. Everyone needs to complain every once in a while. I'm a firm believer in that. If we just kept everything in all the time, we would explode. Besides, I'm REALLY good at complaining. My friends can attest to this. I'm actually surprised they still like me.

  • When people stare at me like I have three heads. For no good reason at all. It seriously drives me insane.
  • When people talk to me like I'm the stupidest person on earth. When it's combined with the above, it means someone will die. Soon.
  • High gas prices.
  • How I can never manage to keep my room clean. This has been a lifelong struggle. It's a good thing I don't have a boyfriend. Or any friends here.
  • How I can never manage to remember to water my plant.
  • LIARS. Enough said.
  • I would say hypocrites here, but I'm pretty much a walking contradiction. For reals.
  • Those girls that wear about ten pounds of makeup on their faces. NOT ATTRACTIVE.
  • Cottage cheese. And I've never even tasted it. I can't get past the way it looks and its god-awful smell. NASTY.
  • Cheap beer. If I'm going to drink alcohol, it sure as hell better taste good.
This is by no means a complete list. In fact, it is ever-growing. There are always things that bug the crap out of me. But I think this is enough for now.

Thanks for allowing me to complain and be critical. I think you'll probably be safe from my criticism for a while.


We'll see.

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Seasonal Work Sucks

It's easier to write when stuff actually happens to you. I'm not one of those writers that has the magical ability to pull material to blog about from out of nowhere.

Everything here in Branson is seasonal. I haven't worked since New Years Eve.

I've been at home most of the time since then, with the exception of my trip to Texas to see my grandparents. And I'm started to go a little crazy.

I don't do well when I stay home for too long, being unproductive. The result? DEPRESSION.

Unproductive depression+seasonal affective whatever depression=EPICFAIL

It's not anything that remotely resembles awesome.

I need a job, stat.

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Head Knowledge and Heart Knowledge

At the beginning of January, I flew down to Texas to visit my grandparents, my dad's parents. (My dad has a blog, too. You can see it here.)

Let me preface. My grandfather, my Papa, is sick. He has carcinoid tumors in his liver. They're not spreading anywhere. The biggest effect it has on him is that it makes him anemic, weak, and easily tired. He also can't eat things that he used to, which is a bummer.

Before I visited last month, the last time I'd seen him was more than a year ago, at my college graduation. My dad told me to prepare myself, that he wouldn't look the same.

And I did that. I tried to tell myself that it had been a year, a tough year. He'd been hospitalized a couple of times.

But what I saw at the airport shocked me, I'll be honest. He looked so pale, so thin and fragile. I had to consciously stop the look of shock I felt creeping across my face, and I'm not entirely sure I succeeded.

A couple of weeks prior, I talked to him on the phone, and I asked him how he was doing. I'd asked him this question before, (obviously!) and the normal answer is something generic like "I'm doing okay." You know, the thing you tell people when you either don't want to tell the truth, or you don't have anything else to say.

This time his answer was, "I'm not well."

I'm not well.

He's the type of person who's been strong for his family, a provider, etc. And I'm his granddaughter. He'd never been weak for me. Ever. And here he was on the phone. . . I'm not well.

I know this is the normal process of life. We grow old, our bodies break down. My head knows this. And my head knows that he'll go home to heaven.

But my heart doesn't know this. My heart is breaking. My heart is breaking because I don't have any idea when I'll see him again, any idea of how long it'll be before. . . It's breaking because I miss him already, because of how much I know it'll hurt later.

And despite how much I tell myself the above logical statements, the pain of the unknown will still stay with me. And most of the time, I try not to think about it. It's easier that way. But every once in a while, at the most inconspicuous parts of the day, like when I was putting a bagel in the toaster this morning, it hits me, it pierces my heart and I can't help but tear up.

This seems to happen to me a lot. My head knows something that it can't make my heart understand. And my heart breaks anyway.

Friday, February 4, 2011

Snow Storms

On Tuesday here in Branson we got ice and snow. Granted, not as much snow as my parents in central Missouri, or my friends up in Chicago. But enough to shut down the whole town. It was really the ice that did us in. Most of the roads are still covered in a thick layer of ice. The local schools have been closed since Tuesday.

And now as I look out my window onto the parking lot, it's snowing. Again. It's supposed to snow all night tonight, and then all day on Sunday. What, like Tuesday's storm wasn't enough? We need more snow? Fabulous.

Okay, fine. Here's where I start listening to the logical and optimistic part of my brain. (Contrary to popular belief, I do possess optimism and logic.)

Perhaps this snow is really a blessing, and we're all just missing it. Besides the obvious fact of how beautiful snow is, maybe God is reminding us that we need to slow down. We're all so busy: work, school, family, etc. We hardly ever take the time to stop and enjoy God's beautiful creation. The daily sunrise and sunset, the beautiful snow, the spectacular lightning storm, the flowers in springtime. God sends it for us to enjoy, and most of the time we miss it.

If that sounds familiar, it should. Donald Miller talks about that kind of thing in a certain part of one of his books. I can't remember which one. His blog is here.

But the point is, if you're stuck at home because of the snow, don't complain. Enjoy it a little.