Maximillian Amadeus Banzai (banzai) wrote,
Maximillian Amadeus Banzai

  • Mood:

Dead man's hand

Want to write, but it's all a knot. External life is busy, though quite average. Internally, I'm tapped out, tired of my heart, tired of caring, of feeling. Perhaps being able to write even that much is a hopeful sign. I don't know.

What happened? Nothing new, nothing I can think of. I just ran out, ran out of things to give, even to myself. Not that life has been asking for much, mind you. Objectively, I know things are good. I have treasured friends, a great job, a developing sense of purpose (mysterious as it is), and an Abba who is very fond of me. And I know His Spirit can give me all that I need, all that He would ever call me to give, that and abundantly more. Yet I can hear my cup scrape against the dry bottom of the pail. How long?

I've been known to up the ante, to raise the bet, and to call the bluff. But sometimes, my poker face slips. And sometimes I just want to fold.

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