My sleep was strange again last night, crashing before 9 and waking up at 1:30. I watched some Buffy (almost done!) and some Saturday Night Live (from the bad years, but "Chocolate Babies" makes me laugh every time) until after 3:30, when I was sleepy again. My defenses must have been down, because I faced emotions I didn't know I had while curled up under the blankets:
What if it's all wrong? What have I done with my life? How much have I wasted? What have I run away from? What am I supposed to do? How do I fix it? I have to find a way to make it right again.Perhaps inspired by the thin vinyl ties of 1980's Santana on SNL, I was rocketed back to those times, to some of the experiences that shaped me and some of my first real choices. Did I ruin everything back then?
Eddyville High School. Drama productions. Quiet starry nights. Visions and dreams. Seeing the future. Hershey's chocolate milk from the back of the refrigerator case, in a Casey's cup with two straws. The burgundy car with the white top and the large antenna. Banzai Uncorperated. Prince. War. The end of the world. Love. Life as a ghost. Cafetorium dances. Master keys. Mad plans. Phoenix Factor. Suzette. Julie. Jodi. Jodi.Should things be simpler now? Life in Iowa with a wife and 2.5 kids, and a less fractured sense of who I am?
If you aren't me, I can't explain these things to you. That's the cost of journaling online. I don't understand, either. But if you've been haunted, you know the feeling.
I'm OK, perhaps even a little better. Sometimes I need to integrate and reintegrate these slivers of self. They come when they will, and running hasn't gotten me anywhere but far away. My questions aren't answered, but at least they are asked. My Lord is in the business of lost sheep, and faith tells me I am not abandoned. I am chosen.