Love Hurts

I’ve been drinking again. I might as well tell you, although I’m not convinced that sobriety would help me blog more. The first couple weeks in my new house, back in October I had no cable, no tv, no internet, no car, no friends. I only had my laptop and thankfully, all the music I still had stored there before I got rid of all my CD’s in the name of righteousness. I could come home from work and play some music and quilt.

I even finished a quilt that I am affectionately calling the Johnny quilt. When my kids were little we always named our blankets for some reason. The football blanket, the Simpsons blanket, the Red and Black blanket, and even though I actually started this quilt to originally give to my son, I began to make it for Johnny and it has one square that says, “To my Johnny, All my love, Linda.”

I was going to give it to him when I went to see him over Thanksgiving. But after I paid half a month’s rent to buy my last minute over the Thanksgiving holiday Greyhound ticket to go see him, he made very lame excuses that he had to work and his family wanted him to go out of town. I think it would have been more honest if he had said he didn’t really want to see me and all the times he had said I needed to come see him were lies. But this way he can insist it was all a big misunderstanding and a timing issue. That was why I broke up with him. If he didn’t want to spend two days with me over the holidays, he wasn’t really going to come see me in July when his parole was up, among other things.

Don’t think I’m cruel, but a part of me was glad we broke up so I could keep the quilt for myself. He may not have properly appreciated it anyway, as he didn’t properly appreciate me.

I suppose I can cut the thread and take out the words that say “To my Johnny, etc.” but I kind of want to keep them there. To remind me that loving someone unconditionally does not guarantee they will love you back, even if they say they do.

But having an imaginary boyfriend was much better than not having one. The emptiness of my house began to slowly crush me. One hope at a time. Thank God for my job, because without it I may not have survived the winter. I do love my job, even if it is extremely stressful and the bullshit is off the charts.

There were some particularly bad days at work and then I would walk home in 14 degree weather with the wind cutting into me and chilling me to the bone. I would stand in front of my house and be reminded once again that there was no one in there who would talk to me, ask me how my day was, give me a hug. So at some point I began to think that it would be a lot less empty and lonely if there was a bottle of vodka waiting for me when I got home. I do understand that may be twisted logic, but it really sounded good at the time. A part of me feels guilty due to my legalistic past – although I distinctly remember a verse about how you should give strong drink to someone with a broken heart, so they can forget their troubles for a little while. Or maybe that is a Willie Nelson song? Anyway, surprisingly enough, it helps.

Thank you for following my blog. I apologize that I have nothing for you. No inspiration, no worldly knowledge. Just me, and I am very screwed up. I would love to blog every day but it takes hours to craft a good blog post even with the Holy Spirit's inspiration. I am not the arrogant know-it-all son of a bitch that I used to be. I try to love everyone and pray for those who are shitty to me. And some days there are alot in that category.

I am not the person that I was three years ago who started this blog - and even if I don't fully understand everything - I'm glad I'm not her anymore.

I have no-one I can really talk to about the things that I am going through. I have people who really care about me here, true blue friends, but even they don't fully understand where I have been and where I am going.

and where AM I going?

I don't know.

everything is tainted. everything I thought Christianity was, is tainted. I don't even want to go to my aunt's house to pray on Sundays because it is so hypocritical. The first two hours is spent gossiping about everyone and it can actually get pretty hateful and then we pray for the last hour. It is part of the ritual of getting a ride to the grocery store and doing my laundry and going to pray. Last week was especially bad since my cousins daughter was having back spasms and my cousin and aunt wanted to lay hands on her. Now granted - I am not against the idea of laying hands on someone - but something was not right about the whole thing.

At first I thought maybe it was just my unbelief, but after thinking about it, I realize that I was NOT led to lay hands on her but felt obligated to do so. Jesus said a word and people were healed, but this prayer session has become so much more about my aunts ability to pray than it is giving any glory to God.

There is something not quite right about grabbing the olive oil you cook your egg with in the morning to annoint someone and then contort them into all sorts of positions while you say praise you jesus. of course, there was no healing from that performance either - and I'm standing there quietly saying, is it me lord?? Is my unbelief causing this girl not to be healed, or is this just as ridiculous as it seems..

there was a time in my life where those very thoughts would have seemed like blasphemy personified.

God does not need contortions and speaking in tongues without interpretation and rituals. Yet, am I alone in seeing this? Or maybe it IS my unbelief after all.

I have no answers but I pray that you will find the answers you are seeking.
until next time
lots of love
Linda