Can of Worms

There is a bee trapped in the window beside me. He keeps buzzing around and colliding with the neon 'open' sign that is housed in the same window. If the bee could read he would be very confused.



Yesterday Shawna, Emmy, Alex, Angelina, and I took an impromptu hiking trip up to Zapata Falls. It was more of a nice walk than hiking, but I felt very adventurous since we opted to walk up the stream bed rather than take the trail. We leaped from slippery boulder to slippery boulder, defying death in order to view the falls inclosed within tall rock walls (or rather, we easily hopped from stone to stone, occasionally getting our feet damp). It was lovely and lots of fun. The view of the surrounding snow-capped mountains was breath taking and you could see all across the valley.













Every time I get on the computer I have the same routine, I check my e-mail and then go through all the blogs of the people I know, in alphabetical order. Then I attempt to write my own blog, but usually by the time I get to my own blog I just miss everyone so much I am throwing myself my own personal pity party. Lately I have admired everyone's ability to express their emotions so well via blog, I myself am an extremely self-conscious blogger (unless I am feeling particularly witty) and find the process of decoding my mind too tedious and all too revealing a process for me to willingly undergo. However, I know from past experience, that if I fail to undertake the decoding process then I will spontaneously implode, stunning innocent bystanders with the sticky emotional goo that results from a rupture of my soul. So, how is my soul? Still processing lessons from the summer, still undergoing to reworking of my heart that will never be complete (a simultaneously comforting and disconcerting thought), still uncertain of many things. Weary of being on guard but unsure how to be more open. I think I am bad at being open because I do not like feeling weak or acknowledging my weakness. bu this is all old news, just reocurring. My spirit is constantly undergoing flashbacks and regressions. I have the emotional and relational maturity of a third grader.



The bee is still stuck in the window.