There are people in the house.
I must not talk to myself.
In the past few days I have taken on the habit of verbally conversing with myself. I'm an aural processor. I like auditory things. So I talk to fill the spaces between the walls where people usually go. Yesterday I had a conversation with the stove, insisting that the attitude with which it was refusing to cooperate over the baking of tortillas into chips was not acceptable.
It shaped up.
But now that the house is actually FILLED with 15 Biola females, I must not talk to myself.
This may be the least of my worries. I also like to sing very loud and have perfected the art of projecting my voice through all the walls. I have whole concerts in the shower. Last night it was Phantom of the Opera. Tonight's rendition of Les Miserables will have to wait.
Who was it that once said "Cellar door" is the most beautiful phrase in the English language? I must agree.
Another tidbit from the life of a hermit: I am allowed to repeat my favorite phrases as many times as I like. Roll them on the tongue for the full flavor.
----
On top of all of this, I have so many things going on inside my head that I want to talk about with somebody but there are fifteen strangers instead of one close friend.
God's being strange lately. I don't know how to read Him and I can't tell if He's reading me, or if He's just waiting to see what I do next. I feel at a loss for direction, for purpose. but mostly just for direction. I wouldn't need a grand, sweeping Purpose if I just had instructions as to where I should put my feet in the morning.
I try getting out of bed on different sides so that it'll switch it up a bit and make Him start to pay attention again.
No such luck.
As soon as I begin to depend on one thing, it vanishes and I'm left with the empty hands just barely beginning to close those tired fingers around an already absent Comfort.
What does He think He's doing?
I'm endlessly perplexed and we have many conversations on the matter. One-sided conversations, of course. But we talk. When nobody's around.
I talk too much.
"Oh no, I've said too much. I haven't said enough."
It'll be nice when I return to civilization and people start talking back.
4 comments:
That was J.R.R. Tolkien, who said that "cellar door" was the most beautiful phrase in the English language. It does have a nice flow to it.
it was also in Donnie Darko.....
I have many times in the past few months talked to myself. Fifteen Biola students? Sheesh. Good luck.
I've never understood the thing about God's silence either. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted a close friend next to me to talk to and the only friend is God and he doesn't even say anything back. Well, sometimes he does, but it's hard to tell if it's Him or occasionally ADD mind playing tricks on me...
You'll make it through. Life is like a sine wave. There's a high for every low and a low for every high. And what are the lows good for if not learning something new about yourself?
So I'm going to CalArts in the fall. I've done a little internet research for apartments in the Santa Clarita Valley, any suggestions?
Lynne, you should TOTALLY rent a room from my parents--it's only a 15 minute drive from my house and we have two empty bedrooms cause my sister and I are both not living at home anymore. They'd barely charge you anything :) Interested? My cousin also lives with her husband down the street from Cal Arts and is thinking about renting out a room sometime in the near future--I can ask her too :)
I'll post this on your facebook to make sure you get it!
Post a Comment