Swirl

Swirl is my favorite place to get yogurt, but it is also the summation of my entire existence. Everything is being swirled together. I do not have a full minute of thinking one way about anything. Sometimes, Dana is the most evil person that ever lived, and sometimes I think this is the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. I did not allow for counseling in the moment that she hit me because I was terrified. I posted our separation on Facebook. Dana is saying that it’s over, that we can’t work on it because I’ve already our divorce. I told her that I didn’t even rule out the possibility of getting together in the Facebook post itself, but that was neither here nor there. It was the crux of the problem. I did something we can’t undo.

She has a problem with how many followers I have. I said, “why do you even care what they think? I don’t.” For real. If we are in a conflict, I am running my mouth to deal with it. I don’t give a shit what you say to me afterward. Your story is not mine. Get your own fucking blog. It will be so much easier than trying to meld all our personalities on this one. I don’t mean that as a gutter snipe. I mean, you have all the tools in terms of using your emotions as an outlet on the page that I do. The fact that you do not use it is not my problem. The fact that you would rather attack me than let me have my space is not going to happen. To me, success comes from doing what you love and letting the money come to you. If people believe in me as a writer/theologian/pastor/etc., then they will give me enough money to implement some sort of plan. If they don’t, then this blog continues to be for me what it’s always been. My private thoughts that people are allowed to read to understand me. I do not count on my blog as a financial resource. I count on it to heal me and maybe one day, when my writing is sharp enough, people will approach ME instead of the other way around.

What do I mean by “giving me enough money?” I mean that I could afford to live cheap and travel a lot, both in terms of missionary work and travel writing. I could start a homeless ministry in a neighborhood that needs it. The food is the faith, people. Giving people food is the key to ministry. You do it every week- home in one wafer. No matter who shows up at the table, you give them food, anyway.

Speaking of ministry, I left Epiphany butt-quick. Just disappeared. I hope you will forgive me. It is not my place to fall, and Christine and Lisa are not my priests. I have always looked at going to church as continuing theological education, because as a preacher’s kid in another denomination, I do not have the ability to function as a parishioner AT ALL. What do you even go to priests for, anyway? I mean, aren’t priests and parents the same thing? Um, no. Not anymore. Yet still don’t wish for the skills. Priests don’t take care of me unless I take care of them. It is a mutual relationship and not a power hierarchy. Honestly, anyone who wants authority in my life right now I just cannot handle. If you can meet me where I am, I will receive you. You start treating me as lesser than, and I’m out. And right now, you only get one shot to do it right, because I am in the place of wet cat in a corner claws extended. I have gotten so much better than last week, but now is not the “I want to meet new people” phase. I am protecting you. Believe me.

I scare Dana so bad that she can even look at me the right way. When I told Aaron and Angela (the Red, old girlfriend from Bayou City Women’s Chorus days…. the Red because my stepmom was red at the time, too, so we called them The Red and the Med) that Dana had said she was scared of me, they fell on their fucking asses laughing. “She’s LOOKED at you, RIGHT?” was the consensus. Normally I am incensed by people calling me small. Today it’s all I need. I need validation that the fistfight never should have happened. I’ve gotten letters that say that since she pushed me first, anything after that was defensive mode and they don’t blame me for anything that happened after that.

It’s in that moment that Argo’s dog comes romping across my mind, and I lean into the feeling of praying to God……. funny only because I can’t tell you his name.

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