chopping block unedited

Why I write…

I’ve probably done this before. I’m almost sure I have. But I feel the need to clarify, classify, and understand why I write. I don’t do this for an audience, although I feel that what goes on in my head must go on in other people’s heads at some point so maybe parallels will unveil themselves and I can help someone, or someone could help me. I want to learn how I work and what makes me think and feel the way I do. I don’t think that my experience, thoughts, or circumstances are unique to the degree that no one else would understand or be able to comprehend, but I do feel that there is a space within who I am-maybe space isn’t the right word- just an area of my soul, or possibly my soul in its entirety, that is uniquely tasha. Meaning that if only for that small part of me, no one else can “fill my shoes” so to speak. It goes along with my upbringing though, and for a reason I wish would be revealed to me, I seriously question my upbringing. My upbringing told me that God made me, and he made me special- He knit me together in my mother’s womb and he knows every hair on my head to borrow some from the great book- and when God made each and every one of us he made us with purpose and a job to do. I question this, and to what degree I’m not entirely sure. To be honest, it depends on which day you ask and which mood I’m in. Not that that is even a little fair- the God of the universe that made me and loves me unconditionally won’t blink an eye about who He is but I float on choppy seas and change my mind more than I change my underwear when it comes to paramount ideas and thought processes. I just want to have a corner on the truth, but I’m such a damn skeptic. I hate that I can be so paranoid about things. I notice it in many aspects of my life, and it worries me because I don’t want to end up like my daddy. Big fat tears well up when I go here, because I that think I could just deal with the b.s. and know I’m crazy, but it would kill me to know that my crazy paranoid ass affected anyone around me in a negative way. I wonder if my daddy thinks about things like that, although I’m not sure he even thinks that who he is and how he acts affects me in any way at all since I don’t live at that house any longer. But it’s a heavy coat when I do think about it. Damn me and my emotions. I keep trying to tell myself there must be some reason that God gave them to me and that He intends good out of all of this, but for other reasons I’m convinced it’s the devil stomping on me like a floor mat because he knows it’s my weakness. Right at this present time in my life, just about every aspect of my life feels precariously balanced on a fence. And honestly, I feel like I employ effort to remain balanced, but that maybe I’m wasting that effort because what I could truly need is to go one way or the other. And in this my problems lie. I don’t know which way I want. I could say that I don’t know which is the wrong or right way, because I’m not entirely sure what is the “right” way, but wrong and right are like bricks in the sea in this event, because it doesn’t matter if I’m wrong or right in the end. And being “right” just feels like a tactic to try and make myself feel better about life, but really no one knows what the fuck they are doing. if you succeed at this game of life you simple do what others do and do it better, or get lucky and get it handed to you. And success, in a way, seems a stupidity to me given that death is a 100% guarantee. No one succeeds at life… I sound such the pessimist… if that’s the right word here, but don’t let that fool you… I’m really an eternal optimist wrapped in a spirit of depression. It’s my torture I guess, but I’ve always loved irony so my heart will smile despite my mind’s constant battle against it. Someone will find the humor in this… God? Lucifer? All I know is someone better be enjoying this otherwise I hate the effort lost in the act. And don’t let me be or believe that I’m ineffective, inarticulate, or unproductive because that’s when the demons really crawl up under my skin and party like it’s 2009.

Making a point- I say things like I’ve drawn a conclusion on something. like I fully understand what I want to say and how I want to say it, but often, and when I say often I mean it is all that is within me not to go back and edit the above paragraph-thingy and why I made it a point to make a point :) BUT WHAT I’M REALLY TRYING TO SAY….. is that as soon as I make up my mind on something, I find myself challenging and contradicting my idea, thought, whatever. I build myself up to tear myself down again. My mind just does this… and God, it’s really annoying. I’d just like to be sure of a few things. I’d like to have firm foundation in some area of my life. There is none, and maybe there really never is, was, or will be and in the past I was just so hopeful and naïve that I believed blindly, never really knowing. Ultimately, I think I have trust issues and that I place emphasis on all the wrong syllables. There’s a conclusion I will be unraveling in my mind for a few days :)

Note to Self

This is just a random ramble I found myself wading knee deep in yesterday afternoon. Nothing is to be taken literal; I was in a very interesting mood and though it may seem I’m throwing ideas around like confetti, I was simply trying to collect my thoughts. Sometimes that feels like a game of 52 card pickup. So now that you have been warned, welcome to my mind…

The ocean swell,
Fell,
F
E
L
L
Tumble, rumble
Dwell..
A choice is a choice, and so is no choice at all. Is life a choice altogether different? It can come and go sometimes as such a whimsical thing, the idea that we are spoken into being, or the idea that God’s mere thought can bring about creation from nothingness. But this is blasphemous, really, because nothingness is not what we are created from, we are created from God. Possibly a little pinched off portion, or maybe, like light through glass, a reflection or refraction- depending on which angle you take. This big book that spells out my belief system (how dare I think this in such a accusatory tone, but I speak of things I’m not even sure about, things I’m not sure I’ll ever be sure about) is one I rarely lift a finger to explore. I’m so spoiled. Popular Christian culture has numbed me by the availability of God’s word, yet despite the big “B” being as common as Starbucks coffee, somehow in the midst of it all I can’t find daddy G. Even more preposterous for me to say is I’m not even sure how much He’s hanging out there anymore. Words in the hand of a fool…. Tell them they must not release me to the public, for some things are contagious… like diarrhea of the mouth.