Thirsty

I find winter to be a bad time of year as far as moisture goes. My skin, my scalp, my throat, my plants, my furniture, and even my soul are all facing destruction due to a lack of moisture. They are all thirsty at this time of year.

Soon the snow will melt, and the rain will fall, and all the pretty things will start blooming again. Then it's harder to notice how desolate I feel from time to time. Then it is so easy to see how there can be such a thing as eternal life.

I came to an interesting conclusion today about why I do some of the things I do, and as always, it stems back to my dead best friend. Sometimes, I really hate her. Sometimes, I really wish the worst for her because of all the hell she's put me through. Sometimes, I let people (i.e. our secretary last week) say mean things about people who committ suicide and never come to her defense because sometimes I feel like she deserves whatever she gets. That's not very protective of me. It's really rather mean. I should be a better friend. But honestly, I am constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the next person to leave, for the next crack in what looked like a state of the art defense system.

So far, it's never not come.

I've also realized lately that all this b.s. about whether I really believe or not is just an excuse to keep stalling God. If I keep pretending that I maybe don't believe, then I never have to actually do anything. Not only that, but as long as I pretend that I don't believe, then I never have to connect with anybody or risk my heart in the poker game yet again (and I mean in friendship, not in romantic relationships). If you don't really want to play the game, then whatever you lose doesn't really count because you weren't exactly playing with much that meant anything to you anyway.

At any rate, it's always at the coldest times of the year that I think of her and hate her and God for a good long length of time. I hate them both. What business did He have bringing her into my life. What business did she have walking out of it. Why should I ever give anyone else the chance to hurt me the way she did? These are the times of year when I get the most thirsty. I thirst for faith, for trust, for hope, for steadfastness, and for something from my past that I can't quite define. Maybe it's innocence.