The Cold War

Tissues. Empty glasses of water lying around. My pink nose. My disappearing voice. Laughing at the funny impersonations having a hoarse voice allows me to do. Sore throat the next day from doing funny impersonations.

Cold is just a guest. No bother. He comes and goes every now and then, and I guess if he takes a bath he leaves the water running, which would explain the watery eyes and nose. He also has a tendency to light fires in my throat to keep himself warm at night, but it’s nothing I can’t put out with a little glass of cold water. I’ve heard he likes to dress up like a girl, and put on high heels and boas; though, it must be true because I think I can feel the feathers tickling in my nose…so I keep sneezing. But no bother, he only visits me once or twice a year, so I expect these things, and I usually don’t pay him any attention at all.

That is until he falls asleep. I figure he sleeps when I sleep because that’s when it happens. I lay my head down on the pillow, and all of a sudden, I can’t breathe. I’m not one of those people who has the ability to sleep with my mouth open: My mouth doesn’t just keep itself open, I keep my mouth open, and when I fall asleep…my mouth closes and I wake up in a fit of gasping and coughing. Clearly, not being able to breathe through my nose is a problem. I wonder over this phenonemon every time Cold comes to stay, and I try to go to sleep, only to find, just then- when I want to sleep- I can’t breathe. I’ve come to the conclusion that Cold spends the night in my nose, which doesn’t seem like a big deal, but I suppose when my head is horizontal and not vertical, he rolls over and blocks the air passage, making it impossible for me to breathe.

In the past, I’ve propped my mouth open with a thumb, and this was not sucking my thumb…it was strategic maneuvering to prevent my mouth from closing after I fell asleep, therefore, insuring that I don’t wake up by Cold suffocating me. But last night, I happened to see a bottle of Dayquil. I read on the label, multi cold symptom relief. I knew, of course, this would not cure my cold, and though my throat no longer hurt, my eyes no longer watered, and the majority of Cold’s things had been packed and he was ready to go, I figured I could do without the stuffiness while I slept. I figured, hey, I’ll take this here Dayquil, and Cold can go sleep somewhere else, and I can breathe through my nose tonight.

The Cold war had begun.

I have never been one to fight Cold. I can’t help it if he shows up, he’s really stubborn and I’m aware that I can’t just make him leave. Doctor’s can’t even make him leave. So, I always just deal. Last night’s decision to take Dayquil is the first attack in a very, very long time that I’ve had on Cold. Boy did it backfire.

There it was. 30 ml. Orange. Almost transparent. Thick like syrup. Sitting on the counter. It had been years, and when I say years, definitely more than 10 since I’ve had cough syrup or anything of that nature. At my house, we accept Cold and just continue on with our lives, so I had forgotten the horrors of Dayquil. But something in me didn’t forget, because I couldn’t make myself drink it. I thought it was silly, or course, but when I picked up that little cup, my hand shook, I think I broke out in sweat, little child-me somewhere was freaking out…I pushed this gut feeling I had away and brought the cup to my mouth and swallowed….coughed, choked, gagged, screamed….

Maybe I was over dramatic but terrible is such an understatement. I could feel large clumps of goo roll lazily down my throat. It had this overwhelming taste, almost similar to a cough drop…but not delightful at all like a cough drop. And what’s worse is that it had this cool, minty affect that opened my noses so that I could taste it even more. And it clung to my tongue, and the inside walls of my cheeks, my uvula, and my esophagus…I imagine if I had looked in my mouth and down my pharynx there would have been orange slime all the way down. It was like somewhere, in some demented Candy land, an evil orange jolly rancher was melted and given to the human race as punishment for eating their candy…so, so cruel.

The cup was half-full. Definitely not half-empty. I cowered from it. I Talked with myself, debated with myself, threw my hands into the air like a five year old and jumped up and down in absolute defiance. But I knew I had to finish it. In short, I attempted to recreate the I-can’t-breathe-situation in my nose, and then drink it without smelling it….but that didn’t work. The whole time it’s like I was trying to gulp it down quickly, but it had little arms clinging to my tongue, refusing to go down, and so, it seemed like I wasn’t swallowing it at all…it was just floating about in my mouth. Finally, I threw my head back, yelling, and shuddered when it was all over.

I gulped down sweet tea. I walked upstairs. I thought I was going to be sick. Really, I could have thrown up…and I realized that I will NEVER take Dayquil ever again. Cold is much kinder than that.

So here it is, Cold isn’t that bad….but Dayquil, “the help,” is pure evil. Don’t let that fun, tangy orange color deceive you…or that off minty smell. It’s only a front to cover its ugliness with. An ugliness that will take it’s time as it slides down your throat and into your stomach where, even there, you can feel it cackle.

Call Me Gomer

Faithfulness. Dictionary.reference. com would say faithfullness is: steady in allegiance or affection; loyal; constant. I don’t know about you, but I’m none of those things. I’m about as constant as 60 watt light bulb; sure I shine real bright for several weeks, but one day, you go to turn me on and I just break…

it doesn’t matter if in my little glassy heart I really want to keep on shining for you, because eventually, it is in my nature to give in and burn out.

I wouldn’t say I’m always steady in allegiance or affection either, if I were, I wouldn’t be a sinner and I wouldn’t have given God the icy shoulder in the first place….because I would have been steady in allegiance or affection.

Here’s the thing.

Because I’m human, I have a short warranty for faithfulness.

Because I will tend to wander, I’ll tend to burn out, burn up, or not burn at all…I’ll just stop being faithful- even if I want to be faithful- for some reason, I’ll still end up neglecting God. I find myself in the same situation Paul found himself in:

“For we know that the law is spiritual, but I am of the flesh, sold under sin. I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very things I hate….So now it is no longer I who do it, but sin that dwells within me. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh. For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out” Romans 7:14-15;18

Here’s the problem….no matter how hard I want to be faithful, I CAN’T be faithful because I have this ugly thing dwelling in my soul called sin, and it doesn’t matter how often I pray or how often I memorize bible verses, it will ALWAYS be there, and THAT is why I can never be completely faithful all of the time

…because sin is not faithful, it’s unfaithful…

which would explain why, without Christ, we’re as good as dead, because left to ourselves, we’re all wrath, and darkness…and sin. At least, it seems, in my own life, that’s all I am when I separate myself from God…I’m all bitter, and dark, and well, ugly.

So I’ve come to the realization that I am unfaithful. It shouldn’t be shocking to me. Sunday School teachers have been teaching me since I could say “Jesus” that I’m a sinner. I guess I didn’t think that meant that I would look God in the face, and by my actions, or lack-of, I would say “I don’t love you,” and walk away. But isn’t that what I’ve been doing all this time? Being bitter or angry with Him because I can’t see His plan, so I try to make my own plans, draw my own escape clause, and in the process of, I’ve said in my heart, “God, I don’t love you enough right now to be faithful, so I’m walking away….”

And what did/does God do?

“She shall pursue her lovers but not overtake them, and she shall seek them but not find them. Then she shall say, ‘I will go and return to my first husband, for it was better for me then that now.’ And she did not know that it was I who gave her the grain, the wine, and the oil, and who lavished on her silver and gold, which they used for Baal. Therefore, I will take back my grain in its time, and my wine in its season, and I will take away my wool and my flax, which were to cover her nakedness. Now I will uncover her lewdness in the sight of her lovers, and no one shall rescue her out of my hand…..And I will punish her for the feast days of the Baals

When she went with her ring and jewelry, and went after her lovers, and forgot about me, declares the Lord” Hosea 2: 7-10; 13

That entire passage makes my heart drop every time I read it, because I feel like I’m reading about myself. I keep waiting for my clothes and the food in the pantry to disappear: I keep waiting to find myself completely abandoned. But aren’t I already? If I’m not choosing God, my first love, and am instead running after the lovers of the world, haven’t I already put myself out in the desert to die? I think (I think means this is solely my interpretation) God isn’t pointing out that He just provided Gomer with stuff; I think he’s pointing out that he gave Gomer life. He was her first love, her savior, her bridegroom…he was the center of everything her life revolved around. And she wasted it on vanity, pride, stubbornness, bitterness….other men. She gave the life God intended for her to have and threw it to the wind.

And here’s the thing, if left on her own, Gomer- who too is a human, and thus has that ugly sin snoozing in her soul- would never have turned back to God.

“As it is written: None is righteous, no, not one; no one understands; no one seeks for God. All have turned aside; together they have become worthless; no one does good, not even one.” Romans 3:10-12

None of us will ever choose God, because none of us will ever be able to defy that sinful nature that is in us to turn away. We will always choose ourselves: our pride, our comfort, our family, our hearts. Because we are not faithful creatures, we are sinful creatures, and God knows this….and though it would seem He would let us wander, as 2 Timonthy 13 says, “if we are faithless, he remains faithful.” Why? It’s who He is. We are unfaithful…God is not.

When God was removing Gomer’s lovers (her vanity, worldly comforts, pride) He was making her naked, but I don’t think in a literal context, I think He was breaking her down so that there was nothing between her and God. I think He was making her as vulnerable as He could. He knew left with those lovers, she wouldn’t turn back, so He took them away, so that all she would have left would be the Lord. Painful? Yes. Affective? Very much so.

By removing the other lovers from Gomer/my life, God removes the distractions, the lies, the counterfeit: All that is left is my obvious weakness and his greatness, his love and my whore-like ways, his compassion and my overwhelming need for him to continue to love me and to teach me His faithfulness.

“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her. And there I will give her vineyards and make the Valley of Anchor (anchor means trouble) a door of hope. And there she shall answer as in the days of her youth, as at the time when she came out of the land of Egypt. And in that day, declares the Lord, you will call me, ‘My Husband,’…..And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy…

I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the Lord.” Hosea 2:14-16;19-20

The Lord lead Gomer into the wilderness, and in the wilderness, when all the rest of the world was put aside, he allured her, and spoke tenderly to her…he loved her. He made her bare, vulnerable, and broke her down, just so she could hear Him when He called to her. It seems drastic, a bit complicated, but it worked. And if you look at your own life, I’m sure the moments you heard the Lord the loudest and clearest is just after you hit rock bottom, and do you want to know why you hit rock bottom? Because the Lord had to get your attention so He could show you your unfaithfulness, and remind you that He’s your first love, and He could remind you that though you may be unfaithful, He has enough faithfulness for the both of you.

So here it is. I am unfaithful because I’m a sinner. I have a black splotch somewhere on my soul that even bleach can’t remove. I’m selfish, impatient, and I too often consider myself deserving of God’s blessings, and thus , believe at time that I must be faithful to receive such gifts, when all along, I’m really unfaithful; God just loves me enough to break down my hard heart, make me vulnerable, and drag me into the wilderness, so that after He’s reminded me of His love for me, and my true human nature ;instead of feeling worthless, disobedient, and the whore that I really am, I’m reminded that I am just human, He is God, and He’ll never give up on me...

He’ll never abandon me, and He’ll never hate me for my unfaithful tendencies. He’ll just keep pulling me out of the muck I throw myself into, and all the while, ready again to betroth Himself to me forever, in faithfulness, love, and mercy.

No need to fear, St. Stephen is here...

My computer crashed…
Fortunately I have backed up all of my essays, papers, poems, fiction, resumes, intern lists, and randomnosities on a flash drive.
Unfortunately, I lacked the mental capacity to do the same with my music.
My music is gone.
All of it.
Gone.
I feel as if I have lost a favorite pet…it was crushed by a dying laptop.

Safety suit, Santigold, Ben folds, Ingrid Michelson, Coldplay, Counting Crows, One Republic, Random Rap, Stateless, Parachute, Paramore, Allison Krous, Dave Mathews Band, The Swell Season, Josh Radin, Imogen Heap, Goo Goo Dolls, Train, Vitamin String Quartet, Bach, Bethoven, Jack Johnson, Taylor Swift, Five for Fighting, Foo Fighters, Jet, Flyleaf, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Kings of Leon (that one hurt), As Tall As Lions(that one hurt a lot), BAND OF HORSES…can’t….go…on…..

I think my heart is crawling on all fours, dragging its inferior Vena Cava of a tail behind it…leaving a ugly trail of brown blood on the white carpet…goodbye strings and drums, goodbye basses and cellos, goodbye kick A guitar solos, goodbye acoustic guitar that makes me drool…goodbye. I’m sorry I didn’t copy your name somewhere, I’m sorry I didn’t call the next day, I’m sorry I didn’t even say goodbye. WHAT KIND OF A PERSON AM I???

I now live in a world of depressing silence. All I have left is my little iPod, my little iPod holding what little music it can with no home to return to. Poor thing. It’s an orphan. I’ll refer to it as Annie now. Little Annie, my lonely, abandoned, neglected iPod. No more USB cables for it. No more electric highs or buzzes. No more musical library for it to wander through. My iPod is now deprived of sustenance and education. It’s going to be mentally stunted by the lack of new music. It’s going to be the annoying kid that sings the same songs over and over and over again, it’s going to be THAT kid.

ITunes can go to h-e-double hockey sticks. Who at ITunes agreed that once someone’s computer crashes, their library is forever closed? Evil people…evil people who would join the dark side for crappy, crumbly cookies, or worse, Nilla Wafers. You would think that with all of their knowledge, there would be some way to log back into iTunes to have your whole musical life there, but no, they’re too smart for that: They decided on the one time download policy. Forget taking a bite from that apple and putting it back into the refrigerator to finish eating it later, it won’t be there. One bite, one time, that’s all you get. What a waste. Had I known that, I would have just spent more time stealing apples rather than buying them to have them disappear in an ITunes magic trick.

We need a music super hero. I imagine a guy- young, maybe early twenties- who’s a hybrid of all music types. He’s got dark, brown hippy hair, glasses, emo bangs, ear gauges, a diamond studded tooth, a 5:00 O’clock shadow, tattoo sleeve on his right arm, a European/Australian Accent, piano hands with string calluses at the end, and some Toms. And he works at a Guitar Shoppe, and goes by the name, St. Steven.

St. Steven is the guardian of all things musical, that’s right, guardian. He’s like a human musical encyclopedia. He knows every song ever created, all the notes in that song, and he even knows who wrote it. And when he hears the cries of someone (me) in pain due to a musical catastrophe, he rides in on sound waves carried from Mount Treble (the place of his birth) which is much smaller, though the neighbor to Mount Olympus. Yeah, he’s part human- his mom was Heather, the blond who worked in a music store chewing juicy fruit and selling used records- and his dad was the god Apollo.

You might think that with a god-dad and a cool mom, he’d have a better name, but on the day he was born on Mount Treble, the sun momentarily went out, and because everything on Mount Treble works by sunlight, the power was gone. Because his mom was so in tune with music, she needed it in order to get through the birth…and Apollo was gone tuning some god’s guitar or maybe it was a sitar so he couldn’t sing to her or play the lovely lyre, the radio wouldn’t work with no power, and she couldn’t sing to herself because she was actually tone deaf, but then, just when she thought there was no hope, she found a toy Hera had given to her for the baby, a-grateful-dead-in-the-box. Perhaps you have never heard of this before, but that is only because the grateful-dead-in-the-box isn’t made anymore…too many people were becoming curious about its origin, which was actually Olympus because the gods liked a little grateful dead too. They were all freaked out by the Jack-in-the-box, except Hades, he thought it was delightful, which is the real reason why he was kicked out of Olympus and put in the land of the dead; no one could stand the suspense of little Jack popping out of the box. So after Hades and his demented toy were kicked out, the gods replaced Jack with Jerry and changed the song to St. Steven. So, on the evening of his birth, his mom cranked and cranked the grateful-dead-in-the-box, all the while she sang to herself, “St. Steven with a rose, in and of the garden he goes. Country garden in the wind and the rain, wherever he goes people all…” and right when Jerry sprung from the box, the little boy was born, and named St. Steven accordingly.

St. Stephen inherited his mother’s musical artist wisdom and his father’s musical ear, and thus, creating the perfect super hero for my debacle. And if he were to hear my cry, St. Steven would appear as if on wings, I would tell him my dilemma, and from his musical soul and through the ends of his callused fingers, he would command the exact music I had lost back onto my computer. End.

I can’t believe I really just made that up on the spot. Or did I? Maybe there really is a St. Steven somewhere rocking out….whispering to the minds of all artists desiring to write a song that will reach beyond our human limits….or trying to remind us to back up our iTunes on a flash drive.

Some Things From my Day

I wake up and brush my teeth; spots appear on my mirror and drool down in white. Getting ready progresses in this manner: dip my head in the tub and wash hair, put on make-up and Burt’s Bees pomegranate Chap Stick, dry hair, do something with the mess on my head, put on clothes after ironing them on the floor, place a brown hair tie on my wrist.

I then have time to fumble my keys into my backpack, and walk to class. It’s a fifteen minute walk, a walk that I’ve done now for two years from my most recent apartment. Every day I pass the white house that reminds me of Boo Radley, and another white house with a red door and large square windows and a grass drive that I dream of buying: I pass the cat lady’s house; the cat usually watches me walk by. And I watch it. I pass the brick building with blue staircases and a dainty floral pattern on the wall surrounding an open hall; its door is always open, and because that hall reminds me of a small ballroom with its small chandelier, I consider walking/waltzing in, but I never go in. I always see myself reflect in the glass windows on the door, so I suppose, in some way, when the doors are closed, I can see myself standing in that tiled room. I pass that broken bicycle; the one that is rusted, and has had its seat misplaced, and I wonder whose bike it was that suffered such an orange, crusty end?

I stand on corners, my hands tapping against my legs to some song I’m listening to, or They lay between by backpack and back, or they hold the straps of my backpack while I tap my feet or turn them out to balance on the sides of them, waiting, waiting, waiting, for that left green turn light to come on. If it’s raining, I’ll avoid the slick white of the crosswalk, and when it’s cold, I’ll swing my arms quickly, and if it’s warm, I’ll walk slowly, ignoring that flashing red hand urging me to walk faster.

What time is it what time does class start am I late It’s freaking hot out here oh that leaf was pretty there are some people sitting at those picnic tables I want to sit at the picnic tables I could skip class and sit here at the picnic table and write something….

I usually think too many things at one time. I usually stare at the pink bike on the bike rack by the library. And I usually walk awkward down the steps by the library on the way to Spidle until the very last one, then, I manage a little skip down a step or two, down to the road.

Somewhere between Advanced Composition and Nutritional Biochemistry I sit in a corner in the library and read random books I pick up. I’ve thought about leaving little notes in them like: I’m bored. I wish today was tomorrow. I want to be a writer. I love you. I think you’re a hypocrite. Bippety boppety boo. Just whatever pops into my head, I’ve thought about scribbling it into the library books. I haven’t done this yet, but I’m seriously considering it. Just starting an anonymous journal in those stacks that some random person will read, who knows, maybe they’ll add a little something.

Sometimes I do sit outside at a picnic table. A random hawk appears from time to time in a big tree, and blue jays and cardinals are pretty entertaining to watch, especially blue jays, they do some really weird stuff when they’re looking for food. I like to watch the people getting on and off the transits. Basically, I think I just like sitting there and watching. When you’re watching it’s like you don’t exist. You’re just a table, or a sidewalk, or a random pole that’s just watching everything go by without even considering to think about it, or wonder over it, you just want to watch it. So, I guess, sometimes I’m that table on that hill where I sit, until I decide to peal my eyes away and become a good ole fashioned human again.

I walk home, really slowly. If it’s cold, my nose and cheeks will be pink when I get back to my apartment. If it’s hot, my face will look flushed and my hair will try to go to its natural waves. I hum. I pass Walt, my favorite person on campus, and I don’t even know the man or his name, Walt just seems to suit him. I laugh under my breath at little things that don’t belong like beer bottles in front of Cat Lady’s house or blooming flowers when it’s freezing or a singing mockingbird on a cloudy, rainy day. Those things are my favorite. I’m not sure why, but they are; the little unexpected things, the things that save me- in some way-during the week, those things are my favorite.

Before I go to bed, I like to think about everything. really, everything. If it exists, I might have thought about it. And I like to watch the lights from cars move across my room while I think. Thinking so much isn't good though, because it steals the time away, until I'm still awake at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning because I've been thinking for 2 hours.

And then, right before I go to bed, before I slip into dreams where my thinking is turned into beautiful places and ideas and the most absurd things I've ever seen...I wonder if I'll ever be a real writer. I wonder if I really do talk too much, and if so, how do I prevent it from happening again. I wonder when I'll go overseas again. I wonder who will love me. I wonder what God looks like. I wonder what the stars look like outside..and sometimes, I actually walk over to my window to look, and see just one, so then I'll go back to bed. And finally, I'll either be completley content with life that night, or I'll wish something about it or me were different, but either way, I still fall asleep, and I'll still wake up, and somehow, every morning, I'm still just me. And there's something beautiful about that, I suppose. At least, I know who I am.

December Nights

I wrote this for my advance comp. class. And I liked it.


We’re lying on blankets-all of us- our heads on laps that lie on quilts that lie on the cold grass. At the top of the hill, the trees fall away to the edges, leaving a frosty window of the sky open. I open my mouth and blow slow and steady, watching the white puffs of my breath move up, up, and closer to those angel’s faces in the sky.
The cold is in my jacket, and in my hair. I don’t mind. It feels beautiful to me. I don’t know what time it is, it might be really late, or really early if the sun is about to rise. That’s seems possible…for the moon to fall and the sun to rise. Or He could show up. I blow another puff of white, and laugh at a joke someone just said, maybe it was John or Kimberly.
Someone is talking about God. I look at the stars, unmoving. I think about God moving them between His fingers like a magician moves quarters through his. He’s that big huh? I think about him in a ball, his hands around his knees, sitting in that black sky in a ball of fire like those stars, and then I think about him stretching out, arms and legs, fingers and toes pushing aside the space and the time… my little white puffs of breath. I could go on, but my head isn’t big enough to fit the universe and God into.
Someone is playing the guitar now. Someone else is singing. The strings reverberate loudly in the cold. I always thought cold air was cleaner, purer somehow. Maybe it really is, and that’s why the song sounds so good.
“Hey, Martha, have you heard from him?”
“What?” all I heard was “Martha.”
“Have you heard from him?” someone said again.
“Oh, uh, no. Wait who?”
It was Kimberly. She looks over at some of the guys, and then leans in to my ear to whisper the person’s name.
“Oh, him..Nope.” I laugh at the look on her face. “It’s fine.”
She leans back down and closes her eyes to listen to the song too, disappearing into the laps and the quilts, and the cold. I look back at the stars and wait for Him to move, and that’s when I see a white breath streak through the sky. I waited all night for that star to fall, and it’s gone in only a second.