Sometimes I Just Can't See It.

I've had enough of this world.

Now don't get scared, I'm not hinting at suicide or anything like it, I'm just simply sick of the pain. Not even my own pain. It's just, so many people are depressed, abused, suicidal, angry, alone. . .the list goes on, and that's just covering my close friends.

And what do I do with it all? I know I can't fix anything, but I long to be able to provide some sort of relief. Some sort of comfort. Where is this hope that's supposed to exist? How do I find it, and how do I help my hurting friends feel it? Where is Jesus in all of this? How do I cast these burdens on Him instead of carrying them for myself? I want to save the world but I know that's not my job.

I know the hope exists. I've caught glimpses of it, heard of its healing powers, but sometimes. . .sometimes I just can't see it.

Sometimes I Get So Overwhelmed

I'm supposed to be writing a paper right now. It's about homelessness in Victoria, and the retarded "solutions" our government has put in place thus far. I'm very passionate about this subject, and could probably rant for hours on what I've learned and how that makes me feel. The problem comes in trying to sum it all up in a concise 1500 words. I think I could write ten pages faster than five. Sometimes I'm completely paralyzed by my own thoughts and emotions.

That's what life's been like lately. An onslaught of unexpected thoughts and emotions left over from the chaos of the past year have been attacking me at the strangest times. Flashes of fear, joy, sadness and confusion continue to accost me as I go through my mundane life. Sometimes all I can do is pray. Two words now, a glance heavenward then. I don't know if it makes a difference, but it's all I can do.

Sometimes I need to be more impulsive.

I need to be more impulsive.

Today I was sitting in my room watching tv and I thought, "I should re-arrange the furniture". So I did. I got up and proceeded to shuffle piles and piles of mess around the room, put all sorts of dents in the wall and break a sweat trying to manoeuvre large furniture around an itty bitty space. It's kind of a nice change. . .I can't wait to see what it looks like once I clean up all the junk!

Now if only I can become more impulsive with some more interesting things. Ah well, one step at a time.

Sometimes procrastination pays.

Procrastination pays. Big time. Let me tell you how I know.

So, a few weeks ago I missed a Philosophy midterm, but had permission from my prof to write it at another time. She gave me instructions on how the process worked and I was supposed to get things organized. She didn't, however, give me a date by which I must write it.

So I put it off. For quite a while. When I finally got around to making an appointment at the testing centre, things got complicated. After a lot of running around on my part, and cancelled classes and forgetfulness on the part of my prof, she finally gave up and told me I didn't have to write it at all. She'll just give me the average of my other tests. Seeing as I got a 95 on my first midterm, and I didn't know any of the material for this midterm (skip classes? who, me??), I figure this is conclusive proof that procrastination pays.

Take that, Jordan!!!

Sometimes I'm wrong.

I'm wrong. I shouldn't quit school and work all the time. And sometimes I should complain about work. Tonight, for instance, I almost died. Literally.

Holy Occupational Hazard, Batman!!!

Sometimes I shouldn't complain about work.

I shouldn't complain about work. Especially on the nights where "work" entails first playing about five hundred rounds of ping pong and later putting together a Spiderman puzzle under the direction of a six-year-old boy who wants to marry me.

I mean really, could I honestly think of much I'd rather be doing? Who else gets to get paid for playing a version of "chess" that involves pieces flying all around the room to the sound of lots and lots of giggling? It's much more enjoyable than sitting at home trying to think up excuses not to do my homework.

Really, I should just quit school and work all the time.

Sometimes I am an idiot.

I am an idiot. A technologically challenged idiot. And apparently this fact produces rather amusing results.

Last night, after waking up from a deep sleep to talk to a good friend (and nearly falling back asleep whilst talking to her) I attempted to send a quick (and perhaps slightly incriminating) email before going back to bed. I typed up a little message, put in the first couple of letters of her name on the "to:" line, and gmail did the rest for me. Oh gmail, wonderful gmail, how I love your quick and easy methods of addressing emails.

Unfortunately, in my half-awakeness, I failed to pay attention to the name that showed up at the top of the screen until just after I clicked on "send". Suddenly I realised that the person to whom I'd sent it was not the friend I wanted to email, but someone else with a similar name. And not just anyone else, but the administrator at my old work! I tried in vain to stop the email from sending (ie. yelled "stop! stop!" and bounced up and down a little) but send it did. But don't worry, I wasn't embarrassed. Mortified, maybe, but not embarrassed. Thankfully, it turns out she found the whole thing rather funny. . .I'm just hoping she didn't broadcast it to everyone at the office. Sigh. . .

In other news . . .

I'm working every evening this week. Tonight I'm working twice. And I have a large assignment due tomorrow that I've barely started. At least I'll be rich by the end of this week! Well. . .less poor anyway. Oh the life of a student.

Sometimes I'm not so bitter.

I'm not so bitter today. Really, the bitterness comes and goes and is usually well provoked. But today, I'm not so bitter.

Why, you ask?

I've just had a ridiculously busy and exhausting, but still incredibly enjoyable weekend in the vdot (which, I've realized, is just as much my home as the wonderful undot is). I never thought I'd admit it, but I like Vancouver.

No you don't. Surely, not the evil Vancouver!

You're right. I don't like Vancouver, I like East Vancouver. I like my neighborhood. I like the people that live there. There's not the slightest chance I'd ever live anywhere else in the city, but I'm beginning to wonder if I could actually do the UrbanPromise thing long-term. Shh, don't let the UP staff know, or I'll find out that stating the possibility on my blog is the same as signing a binding contract committing myself to a lifetime of service.

Since when is UrbanPromise on the list of long-term plans?

Since this weekend. Besides the executive director's eloquent, enticing and effective exhortation of the efficacy of UrbanPromise at this fall's fabulous fancy fundraiser (who loves thesarus.com?), something in the sermon at church today made me wonder if that's where I'm heading. Not so much a lifetime of service, but maybe a few years in the vdot wouldn't kill me. Sure does scare the crap out of me, though. But according to the aforementioned sermon, that might be ok.

At any rate, I'm not so bitter today as I was during the creation of the previous two posts. Heck, I'm even thinking of the future with some sort of hopeful expectancy. What more could a person want?