Inside the box.

What I should be doing:	Writing cover letters, putting together targeted resumes.  Finishing rental forms.  Emailing the rental office. Asking questions.	Cleaning my window.  Organizing my shelf.  Going for  a run.  Going for a bike ride. Doing something healthy and active.  Feeding my cat.	Reading my bible.  Praying.  Writing the letters I promised to write to my friends.
What I want to be doing:	Walking on the beach, breathing salt air, my hair being tossed by the wind, feeling the light rain against my face Sitting with a guitar on the forest floor, staring up at the huge, old trees. Thinking about their strength, their roots, the storms they’ve weathered, the shelter they are for so many living things, the beauty they add to the earth, how even when they die they become a home for new life, or are used to warm, to cover, to hold.	Laughing. Talking about nothing; and yet talking about more than I’ve talked about for a long time.  How are the rental forms? Frustrating. How’s the job hunt? Fruitless. But not because there are no jobs.  Because I’m lacking the motivation to seek the fruit.  Because I really want to just lie lazy, watch a movie, sleep in, talk to friends, and take a break.  I want to be done with school.  And the idea of spending my time off, working, and saving every penny I make to go back to school somehow doesn’t appeal to me.	I want to be doing these things because I feel like it.  Because I have organized my life, I’m not stressing about things that aren’t worth stressing about, and I just want to write out of complete love that I know is real, that exists, that’s the person that I really am and want to be…but somehow I think I’d be writing out of loving obligation.
Feel?	I don’t remember the last time that I was stressed like this.  Even when I had papers due within 24 hours.  This is the tight chest overwhelmed, trying not to cry, wanting to be 10 years old using sidewalk chalk to create my own world with no problems.  This makes me feel small.  Like something slapped me in the face and said “HA!” here you go, Jennifer, you aren’t grown up.  You aren’t ready . You can’t do everything. You aren’t a superhero-pirate-ninja-jedi-queen of the world. You are small.	Then here’s the wise part of me.  The part that knows, this is good for you.  This is growth for you.  This is remembering that you can’t and shouldn’t do everything in your own strength.  This is your opportunity to really be in the so called real world that everyone’s been talking about for so long.  This is GREAT!  This is the hike up the mountain to the beautiful view.  This is the preparation for a delicious meal.  This is the beginning of a marvelous thing! You are a beautiful, talented, blessed young woman and CAN reach your dreams.	I’m tired of forms.  Of formats.  Of boxes.  Of walls.  Of rules.  Of limitations.  Of archetypes. I feel trapped.  And I know I’m trapping myself.  But somehow, when I say I want to let go, and I think I want to let go, and I know I need to let go, I don’t. And I know that somewhere inside of me there’s a person that wants to say yes to singing in the choir.  That loves  the black and white of paperwork.  That loves to hear and know and feel with others.  But I feel like it’s too much work to feel the good things.  It’s so much easier to just not.   AND I FEEL GUITLY ABOUT THIS. But the feeling’s still there.  Guilt or not.  Knowing it’s wrong or not.  Knowing I need to do something about it or not. Knowing I’m whining or not.
	And so I’ve blogged.  I’m really not as down as I sound.  The world’s really not as dark as I paint it.  Words are tricky.  They make me seem like I’m on an endless fall.  They make me seem like I’ve shut out all the light.	But I can manipulate them too.  Maybe if I use them, twisted, worn out, give up, shut down, turn away, dark alley, solemnly swear, Stick them to paper, or cyber space, or some sort of strange document I don’t understand, but they are saved.  And they are out.	And hopefully, they are out for good.  I can see how silly they are.  I can see how pointless they are.  I can see how dangerous they are. Even I don’t know which mask I’m wearing now.