do you ever wish you could save someone?
it’s not that you want to be their hero.
you just don’t want them to have to face what is before them.
their decision is naive and will cause them more pain than they know.
very soon.
you just want to change their mind.
wrestle their pride to the ground.
break their inhibitions.
shatter their stubbornness.

oh if they could see the light they are missing!
if they only knew the beauty in surrender.
the overwhelming, overpowering flood of purpose and love.
surely they would run, hobble, crawl …

choice is so hard to watch.
i can’t imagine how You do it.
and it is through those moments of utter yearning
that i agree with Your life-giving compassion.
do you ever wish you could save someone?

only You can.

-how my heart hurts for you.-

—

—

-my grandpa in CA-

It’s 12:39pm on a Friday. Here I sit at the very school I have attempted to leave so many times before. This time graduated, which apparently means wearing black heels and dress clothes to the library. The career services interview a past success, despite a four-lane blocking accident delaying me fifteen minutes of my half hour window of “fix this on your resume” and “quickly, here’s our computer system” time. The Other Place interview now lost into the world of “I need full-time, not part-time”. Waiting on the Montgomery County machine to slowly get itself going. Whispers from rebellious platinum blond fashion queens echo copy machine cries and coughs. This place reeks of carelessness, acting and unemployment. My stomach complains. Laundry waits at the apartment. A hospital visit of a friend’s sister looms. Productive, one could call it. Hard-working. Or also just plain lost. This job hunt. But this freight train fails to find fuel. “None Available” burns into my eyes with site after site. But Hope still remains. The trees wave through glass. The wind active again. And with ideas long gone, discovery hangs… yearning… waiting. Alas, these black heels find pavement beyond the library doors. Across the street. Within her past hatred they wait. Until at last they find their home on the wood floor… empty. A morning gone, with red feet and wasted paper it’s products. Laundry calls. Visits persist. And then alas… rest.

Thus goes the story of today’s employment.

To the unemployed,
Sucks to be unemployed.
I feel ya.

Hoping to use this “wonderful” education,
me

To my husband,
I love you.
I’ll try to geta job here soon.
But refer to the above letter.

Hoping your education doesn’t proove as “bountiful”,
me

To the zit that just popped on my face,
Nasty.
Resentingly,
me