Drowning

I feel like I'm drowning.

I know I'm a drama queen, but I don't see any point in lying about how I feel on Nine to Phive. Especially when hardly anyone reads this blog since I've gotten so lax about updating it. No one will be fooled, if you know what I mean.

A Muse performance at ELEV8 conference this year. I thought it was sufficiently depressing.

Maybe it's because I now have an IC flareup for two weeks out of the month. Every month.

Maybe it's because I'm scared to death that I won't be able to keep a full-time job, let alone a job in the highly impractical field that I love.

Maybe it's because I've had to take a 19-credit load this semester just to graduate on time (barely). Oh, and those extra credits? They cost me $800 of over-enrollment fees.

Maybe it's because two of Muse's biggest performances of the semester are over and I don't feel relieved. No less busy. No less stressed. No less out of breath.

Maybe it's because, after two and a half years of marriage, I feel like I should have worked out so many of the selfish struggles that my newlywed friends seem to have no problem with after just a few months.

Maybe it's because I feel guilty turning to my family for support when they're struggling just as much as me right now.

Maybe it's because I love God, love my church, and love my brothers and sisters in Christ, but can't find the time or energy to invest in my personal spiritual life.

Maybe it's because I want more than anything to write freely--stories, poetry, journals, grocery lists, bucket lists, this blog--and I can't even find time to do my required writing for class.

Maybe this is my life now.

Struggling.
Fighting.
Keeping my head above water. 

 Drowning.

I thought graduating this spring would feel like a weight being lifted, but as I approach commencement with all of this and more baggage (some of which won't disappear the moment I walk across that stage), I feel as though it's just a doorway into different and heavier weights pressing down on me.

Pressing down on my lungs . . .  
On my heart . . . 
On my spirit . . .  
I'm broken . . .

Drowning . . .

Oh, and a drama queen. There's that, too.

The Thing About Computers, A Poem

This poem is a work in progress that came to me rather fluidly, stream-of-consciousness style. It sounds very "rantish," but still very artistic and eloquent. It might make a nice spoken word poem.

The Thing About Computers

The thing about computers

Is that they make it too easy

It being art, of course, and art being life

The miscommunication occurred between cursors and paintbrushes,

Servers and stereos, search engines and hard-bound books

Someone decided that internet access equals ingenuity
And you and I genuinely believe
Because we want to be that genius

The thing about computers

Is that clattering sonatas and lexical symphonies

Can spill from sadly unskilled fingertips

Onto unsuspecting keyboards kissed by amateur prints

Pinkies and thumbs transformed into instruments fine-tuned for use

On the most unwieldy of weapons

Perhaps it’s this knowledge that without our touch

Not a character dares shows its face on the digital page

That makes us feel like typing virtuosos in spite of our

Oafish hen-pecking at x, c, and the left-pointing caret keys

But in the deluge of tap-dancing digits

Pit-patting on the space bar and tabbing to a five-point indent

We lose the intent to type something worth saying at all
Will they "follow?" Will they "like" it?
Will you lead them into battle with your lion's heart
So strong they know they'll never be the same?
Skip that last part
At least they know your name

The thing about computers

Is that this information superhighway

Moves faster than a galactic hitchhiker

Reaching for the stars like you are every time

You sit across the table from Google and YouTube

Grasping at their plates with grubby fingers

For scraps of facts you never even knew you needed to know

But too fast to smell the fresh-cut grass of that pasture you passed

On the left a while back

Too fast to keep your eye on the horizon

Knowing that every mile on the speedometer

Brings you one step closer to capturing that distant sun

With your camera phone and abruptly Instagramming it

Into a dingy existence in the presence of a vintage photo filter

Forget about the comforting crackle that keeps you company

On the acre-long hunts for FM radio stations between gas stations


The thing about computers
Is that they can do more than we ever could
But the basic good which we assume
Perfumes the perceptions of engineers and authors
Who father the codes and man the programs
Is missing from the motherboards 
Populating worlds of data
With method instead of morality
Efficiency, not faith
Not heart enough to stave off hate

The thing about computers

Is they are only as good as the hand that guides them
And the hand guiding them
Is mine