who cares

you can read this. i want you to.

hotel rwanda.

I've been feeling lately, as if i don't deserve anything.  well.  i've been realizing.  lately.  i don't deserve this car.  this roof.  these legs.  this safety.  i've never had to sleep without a blanket.  i've never had to sleep on the ground.  i'm sure i've done it, but i've never had to.  i've never had a lack of roof.  or bed.  or blanket. 

          my church is spending six million dollars on a new building.  they think they're different, but they're not.  they're just like everyone else.  and so am i.  and i'll never.  never.  be good enough.  i am not emotionally capable of withstanding the pain that it would take to be good enough.  i'm supposed to be human and realize that i'm imperfect and come to grips wth that.  accept mercy and settle for being the scum of the earth.  but what about when everyone else has to accept the mercy given to me?  it's always easier when it's just me.  just me i have to think of.  only me.  no one else to answer to.  to be responsible for.  it's become easier to love people who hurt me.  but it's different, when it comes to the people who hurt, my family.  anyone i love.  anyone who it is my power to protect.  is that the same?  should i say, well if it were me, i would love my enimies, so she should too?  is that why i'm allowed to be against war?  because i believe that everyone in the world should stop feeling sorry for themselves and love their enemies who rape their children and murder their families?  they need to remember that god loves me, even thought i pay twenty dollars a week on gas that people thousands of miles away are dying over. 

          if they'd just look at things in perspective for a moment they'd realise that it's not my fault that i'm so comfortable in my lifestyle.  they'd realise how hard it is, as an american, to break out of the machine.  if some one would only think of me for once.  if they would just think of what i have to go through, worrying about them all the time, and beating myself up about it, but not really be able to do anything.  my stupid little tithe jar.  with close to nothing in it.  it's not even tithing, really.  it's guilt.  whenever i'm feeling particularly guilty, or particularly obligated.  i should call it my stupid little outlet for guilt and obligation, jar.  my dolphens sure are pretty, so i'll stop eating tuna and put the money in here instead, jar.  my, i know this won't ever do much for anyone, but i'll keep remembering all the times i've been told that every little bit counts to someone, and try to forget that with my luck, the money i give will be part of the seventy percent of donations that goes to the actors in the comercials, jar.  i'm so sick of my self.  i do want to change the world.  IS THAT SO BAD?  is it so horrible?  my dad.  he says you have to start saving for retirement.  you have to get good healthcare and benefits.  you need a job that will make it so you and your family can live comfortably.  FUCK YOUR SYSTEM, DAD!  he doesn't even hear me when i speak to him.  i know he's not even listening.  when i tell him i've been thinking of humanitarian work.  he doesn't realize i'm trying to tell him that i want to change the world.  when i tell him i couldn't care less about college, but i'll go if he wants me to, he doesn't realize i'm trying to tell him he's suffocating me.  and now i'm becoming comfortable again.  i went to orientation, saw a counselor, made up a bunch of alternate schedules to chose from a month in advance.  i don't want it.  i want god.  he burns in me.  i begin to drift away and can feel him.  all around me.  he is the air.  every second.  and i'm so humbled.  right here, in this moment.  humbled by the fact that it doesn't make sence.  it doesn't and won't, and you know what, monsoon, you're just going to have to deal with it, he keeps telling me.  i know i say, and then i keep going on rants like in my blog so a bunch of people i don't even know can read about my stupidness.  and i keep running into walls and my nose is completely mangled, but i just can't seem to see past it.  i'll just keep up with my, beginnings of a revolution, jar.  i am in love.

posted by: monsoon at 15:44 | link | comments |

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