breathe and stop

i look on my iCal

[thank goodness for this macbook

or my life would be in shambles]

and i realize that

there isn't a day "free" on my

calender for the next two weeks.

and while i've done it before

and i'll do it again

because He created me to climb

bigger mountains and fight

greater demons 

is there any shame

in taking a break

to breathe and stop

hard time.

i'm doing research on

a prison that i will be visiting tomorrow

actually, correction -

a correctional facility -

and i stumble across a blog

fueled by a desperate wife

missing her husband

hopefully getting parole in

1 year

7 months

4 weeks

3 days

18 hours

and 57

56

55 seconds

so that she can sleep in his arms again.

and i cant help but hope

that God finds a way to dry her tears

and hold her tight

if worse comes to worse

as things quite often do

and two years from now

the pillow on the 

other side of the bed

is still as cold as it has been

in previous years past

lately.

"he makes me feel so good/

better than i would by myself/

or if i were with somebody else"

-paraphrased from T-Pain's "Can't Believe It"

Lord give me the strength to

look past those who lied to my face

forgive those who failed me

pretend to ignore their hurtful comments

save myself from their devilish ways

distance myself from those who don't matter

love myself really and truly above all others

and Lord, if You can,

let me be open to the blessing

of new people wanting to be in my life

especially him, sleeping peacefully,

as if we've known each other

for all time

reading in the dark.

i said i could do 18 hours

and theoretically i can

if all i do is grind grind grind

eyes wide open

mouth wide shut

but i never intended

so early on in this round

to have been knocked down

by so many people

so many times

i'm up early trying to finish this book

that needs to be done by 1

which is impossible because i have

classes at 10, 11, and 12

every light in my room is on

but it feels like i'm 

reading in the dark grasping

for the sentences to make sense

to my puzzled brain

i cant even focus on 

black rage in the prison system when

my mind is wrapped around

29919194 things at once and

i really just want to

lock myself in my room 

the rest of the semester and 

read and read and read but

i know no matter how many

300 watt lightbulbs i plug in

i won't be able to see

the words on the pages because

the darkness has blinded me

and i'm choking on my tears

untitled

the people that you care about the most

will always let you down

the people that you care about the most

will always let you down

so stop caring

the journal.

so i woke up this morning

to a most familiar voice

telling me he's downstairs

with a belated birthday gift.

so i hop out of bed

[turn my swag on]

and greet him in my slippers 

he hands me a beautiful journal

full of empty pages

except a note from him in the very front

full of silly jokes

and words of encouragement 

to keep writing.

and for years i have shied away from 

real live tangible journals in fear that

they would get in the wrong hands or

someone would blackmail me or

one day

i'd look back

and see the pain on every page

and know that this paragraph

on february 18, 2009 

is jumbled and unreadable because

i was sitting on my bed

mascara running, gasping for breath

sobbing.

but after he left i looked at

and held up this

brown and gold bound up

gift from one writer to another

and i sat down at my desk

and carefully and painstakingly

thought out loud

and to my surprise

the words found their places

on the page

perm.

every six weeks or so

i have to drag myself out of bed

at some ridiculous hour

and make my way to roselawn

where my beautician's shop is.

i hate getting perms. but by the time

six weeks rolls around my coarse

black roots are too thick to handle

so i sit in her chair, let her base

my scalp like a turkey and proceed

to light my head on fire.

but before all this happens,

she sifts through my hair to get 

a general idea of whats going on.

and apparently, your scalp

can tell alot about whats going on with you.

she said, ashley,

your hair seems to be shedding

a little bit. it's not as full as it was

when you came in before school starts.

what's going on? are you stressed?

i thought about responding back,

well yes, ms. crystal,

i have had the semester from hell

and i just finished the finals from hell

and i have literally been pulling my hair out

in tears from stress plus i've been

looking for internships and

i lost my best friend and 

my bank account is perpetually on E and

i've doubted every friendship i've ever had and

that's why my hair has been shedding.

but instead of doing all that,

i just gave her a sheepish smie

and said

yes ma'am.