An Ear Full of Heart Failure
It's hard to focus when you hear voices on phones and people trying to be right. The lights in the office are invading your eyes. It's hard to sit comfortably in a chair needing a body not to survive, but to keep money in the drawers. I can hear everything my coworker says as he sprays conversation on the hook of the black phone attached to a concerned patient. Yawning takes ten percent of my strength every time the muscles stretch around my face, pushing out tears of a secret cry. A pack of cookies and a Snickers bar isn't enough to keep my back straight to type quickly, sufficiently. It's December 10th, eighty degrees outside and the Christmas list on Spotify is not helping.
Two and a half more hours before I move my bows and workout for almost an hour. Being thirty-four-years old keeps snacks in a small pouch around my waist under my skin. Either I eat them once and run for 2 hours straight to maintain my weight, or leave them be, get back to looking like a college student living off 6 hours of sleep, microwave pizza, and unprotected sex with the worst girlfriend I ever had. I can't go back to that guy, so I'm here I am...with my butt on naked leather, sliding me towards a work email about someone retiring tomorrow with drinks and cake. I hate myself for not trying 8 years ago. I didn't stay in that class, I didn't write that paper, and I didn't go to that party. I didn't pay that rent, I didn't save that money. Cleaning up my mess is worse than making one from a foul stomach. It's true that when you fill yourself with crap, you get the same in a return investment.
Good preaching sounds better than a five-dollar meal at Burger King (with a coupon). My Bible has been closed since I made God relevant (not like He needed me to) and small prayers to hold on to $40 won't seal the relationship. I need The Word. I need Solomon's journal. I need a fire in my pocket again. I need to write about everything that keeps me alive. I need to serve with a smile--the big ones in my baby pictures. I need to be more grateful of my abundance...because if I keep under-minding God's provision, His supply might lessen or completely forfeit generosity, but it's not about His giving, but my living. It sucks...because I suck at not sucking. This is how I feel. I'm okay to function, I just need a little juice...
Two and a half more hours before I move my bows and workout for almost an hour. Being thirty-four-years old keeps snacks in a small pouch around my waist under my skin. Either I eat them once and run for 2 hours straight to maintain my weight, or leave them be, get back to looking like a college student living off 6 hours of sleep, microwave pizza, and unprotected sex with the worst girlfriend I ever had. I can't go back to that guy, so I'm here I am...with my butt on naked leather, sliding me towards a work email about someone retiring tomorrow with drinks and cake. I hate myself for not trying 8 years ago. I didn't stay in that class, I didn't write that paper, and I didn't go to that party. I didn't pay that rent, I didn't save that money. Cleaning up my mess is worse than making one from a foul stomach. It's true that when you fill yourself with crap, you get the same in a return investment.
Good preaching sounds better than a five-dollar meal at Burger King (with a coupon). My Bible has been closed since I made God relevant (not like He needed me to) and small prayers to hold on to $40 won't seal the relationship. I need The Word. I need Solomon's journal. I need a fire in my pocket again. I need to write about everything that keeps me alive. I need to serve with a smile--the big ones in my baby pictures. I need to be more grateful of my abundance...because if I keep under-minding God's provision, His supply might lessen or completely forfeit generosity, but it's not about His giving, but my living. It sucks...because I suck at not sucking. This is how I feel. I'm okay to function, I just need a little juice...
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