Does not Compute

I have not grown accustomed to the fits and starts of living, or not living my own life for Christ. Each setback is like a shovel to the face. Each slip up is a sign of my ultimate and impending failure- total failure. Wow, I sound like an Alanis Morissette song. No wonder I gravitate toward her music. She uses big words and breaks two-syllable words into three-syllable words. Mmmm, syllables.

So we are having a tough time of it, Lord. I am, rather. You wait for me to get over myself like a infinitely patient mother waiting for her toddler to come out of a tantrum. I appreciate that, but at the same time, can't you rip me from my own hands? Can't you induce a God-coma so that I can bust out of this joint?

Right now, I am like this black-haired emo girl with her hair covering her eyes and a flock of ravens flying around my head. Internally, of course. Mothers of toddlers don't have the luxury of full-throttle selfish depression sabaticals. And I'm over myself enough that I can keep it all internal. Or at least confined to my head and this lovely Blog thing. If my thoughts aren't in my head, you'll find them typed out here. Blah blah blah blah blah blah.

So, this "funk". I hate it. If I knew what it was about, like, specifically, I could work myself out of it. My biggest fear is that this whole mess is going to require some kind of emotional apex. Until I reach that point of complete and total desperation, lose all grasp of my emotional structure that I have built up...see, it doesn't matter that I am begging God with every breath I have. That I plead with the Spirit to clobber me good. Somewhere, I am resisting. Resisting the breaking.

I don't know what I'm supposed to break about. I feel like my brain is waiting for my heart to catch up. My brain is the responsible adult, who uses logic and reason and Truth to move forward. My heart is this selfish little brat with a list of hurts that goes on and on into infinity, and she just wants to mope and mope and be emo. I am living in duality.

Ugh, why couldn't I have been a man? Am I some kind of experiment, Lord? Why must I be this roaring freak show of internal passion and emotion, rolling like waves through my entire being...yet what comes out is this...trickle? Who is controlling this?

Ah, that's enough for one evening, Alanis. Let's get back to whatever it is we're getting back to. Numbing myself or whatever.