This post will be a little different (as the title says). I just came back from a church retreat, “Where are you?” and I wanted to document my thoughts about it by listing my thoughts at various times throughout the retreat. I’ll make it as easy to follow as possible.
This was mildly inspired by “Ordeal by Cheque” by Wuther Crue. It can be found here.
People tell me all the time that I’m a good writer. “You’re a good writer,” says a person telling me I’m a good writer. Then they go off on something specifically that I usually don’t agree with.
But here’s the problem: if I’m such a good writer, then why do I always have a problem with writing essays?
Don’t answer that. I already know the answer. I can write well about what I like to write about. But if it’s something that’s more than semi-complicated, I have a hard time explaining what I think. It ends up being close to gibberish.
And it sucks.
I’m not at peace. Not at all. I’m just very…
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Hulk smash.
…
The world is in need of some Bolt-Action Christ.
It’s my dad’s birthday today.
Happy birthday, dad.
We in America have so much crap. Even while we’re pointing out how much we take for granted, we overlook the simple things that not everybody has. That being companionship. A family. I was in Downtown Seattle this week and was less-than-surprised to see a few hobos laying around; however I had never thought much about them until I looked at one straight in the eyes. He wasn’t begging or anything, he was just sitting on what was probably the baby-changing station counter in the bathroom. He looked so lonesome. I thought about handing him some money, but the question of whether he actually was a hobo crossed my mind. After all, he wasn’t there the first time I was there (at least, I don’t think). I didn’t want to offend him. But all it took for me to realize all of this was one glance. For a fraction of a second, I felt pity. Then I felt guilt and shame.
Our families are what shape us. They’ll (almost) always be there for you. They are the best things ever.
I’ve been to two concerts in the last month, and upon returning, people have always asked me, “how was it?”
You know, I don’t know why, but this really bothers me. For one, it’s a generic question that people ask even if they don’t give a rip. Also, considering they’re concerts by professional musicians, what am I supposed to say? “Oh yeah. It was terrible and everybody was bad at everything they did.” I mean, come on, now.
Since people ask me such questions, I usually tell them close to the best answer I can give them, which is, “it was great.” As you can tell by my writing skills, I can never convey my ideas well through words.
Then there are the times when I’m sitting and listening to a piece of music and I love it so much that I pretty much just fall over. Simply because I cannot explain the feelings that are coursing through me as I listen to it.