blog repost: i woke up feeling blue, then angry... (Imperfect Prose)

a while back, some friends and i started writing a blog under pseudonyms, on a bit of a lark really, just to have some fun and see what would happen. the answer is that not much happened. we wrote for a bit and then sort of let it go. what you will find below is a re-post* of something i wrote about a year ago under my pseudonym (st isidore), but it's interesting to note how i still experience days like the one i describe. life is, as they often say, a marathon and not a sprint.

i'm thrilled to be linking up with imperfect prose today...

---

i fear i've been a bit mopey of late (see post title above). and this isn't false humility, or self-deprecation. i've been mopey. more than anywhere else this sad, somewhat sardonic disposition comes out in the things i write. so up front, ahead of the poem which follows this, which is definitely mopey, i apologise.

i was laid off two months ago, and this exciting bit of personal history has served to fuel whatever natural tendencies toward fear and doubt and insecurity i already had. not completely, mind you, for the flip side of my somewhat depressive state is a nearly preternatural tendency to believe everything is going to be okay. that's weird, right? this morning, for example, i woke up and without even trying, before i'd even had time to take a pee and put my glasses on - in that order, to my wife's chagrin - i felt depressed.

yet sitting here, typing these words, wondering what you'll think of me and the poem i've written, i somehow feel hopeful, nearly cheery, at how it's all going to work out. i see all the wee drops of grace falling before my very eyes. the way the wife writes poems and stories that make me want to read them more, and be a better writer, husband, and father all at the same time; the way the son and daughter attempted to learn how to knit together last night, and how they really did try to help each other, and how the son had the good sense to take a break when he started getting frustrated; the way my bacon tasted this morning, and the way the coffee tasted, oh God, the coffee, the way it tasted and warmed and worked its way into my belly and my veins and my soul.

God is ruining me and saving me all at the same time, and all at the same time it's wonderful and it hurts like hell. God is teaching me to revel in my impotence while i learn to trust in his omnipotence. it sucks and it's stupid and i don't get it and i know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that i can't get him to move any faster than he is because his love for me does not work on my schedule.

his love for me is killing me and giving me new life, all at once, every moment of every day. he is my God, and i am his child. he is God, and he is love, and i am love's child. enjoy the poem.

*as you may have deduced from some of the references, the original post had a poem, too.  you can find it all here.