12.5.18

i’m just going to start typing. start writing. without regard to this monitoring work computer that has become my life. don’t even remember how to use macs anymore. give me that pc life.

every day has been strung together so that i could be convinced ive just been experiencing one long day. today, i sit here frustrated at all the little tasks and all the little steps and all the interactions that are involved in all those parts. and for what. for something im not sure i care to fight for. something im not sure why it needs to happen in the first place. he asks for passion. i have just barely enough motivation to scrape by what you need. to give you the facade of a dream. to scribble words on these postit notes and numbers in the cell that formulate the donuts that i don’t care to eat.

it’s 6:41 and the office is empty. and im sitting here with enough work i could stay here until the fluorescent lights sleep for the night and flicker back on. it’s not that i hate it. it’s that i don’t love it. it’s that some moments are fun. care-free. like this is a team or a rag-tag family. but some days, like today, are hard to swallow. in fact it’s hard to think at all. my brain is stiff. i wouldn’t be surprised if brain lobes were squeezing out of my ears.

i wouldn’t be surprised if i stay here forever. because im being lulled into sleep. im being hardened and one could call it trained but i call it grinded into a system. but i’m pretty sure it would be the same no matter where i went.

so here i am. im not unhappy. but i guess im not content. and i guess im not alive with excitement. im just moving. taking steps. typing words. writing plans. answering emails. being called out on my mistakes. hearing people’s problems. all the while it feels like im stuck in a time where the world moves on without me.

i just want to know my purpose. i just want to find what i was made for. i want to find people who inspire me to strive for that. is it too much to ask for every day to be filled to the brim? to every day to wake up knowing you’re doing what you were always supposed to do. is it too much to ask. to feel fulfilled.

it’s interesting because i don’t feel like i’m rotting here. i feel like when i was in college i could let myself rot. but here i have to keep moving. i have to wake up i have to go i have to turn in something i have to keep the machine churning. so it’s been good. learning how to build faithfulness.

im rambling, but im trying to say something. im trying to pin point this something in me that has been calling. i havent been able to access that data. it’s like it’s under four feet of rock that has now calloused over the four months of this time. it’s a weird feeling to feel that dead inside. because sometimes when i wish to run away from life it’s an intense feeling that stops me from doing life. but here i am deadened to my own feelings and so i have been able to just keep doing life.

yeah. now i’m just not making sense. but that’s what you get. at the end of another day of the longest day of my life.

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1 comment
  1. Octavia D. Mason said:

    I believe for me, when I was interning and working 14 hours a day almost every day, what kept me from going stir crazy was finding joy in the small times I could create–sketching in a meeting, creating a poem during lunch, or reading the Bible in the morning and right before I went to sleep. Though I couldn’t do those things at the length of time I wanted, I still found peace and joy in those times. Trusting in God that He would use me where I worked led me to being faithful to the work I was doing and to being faithful to the time I could create. Now, I’m no longer interning and through the small times of creating and spending time with God, I have a greater understanding of what it means to treasure the creativity God has given me, how to cherish the time I spend in God’s presence, how to be faithful and endure wherever I work, and to trust God to use me. I’m not saying learning to do this will make everything easy and smooth, but it will make it less difficult.

    Like

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