burdened

I woke up crying this morning because I was hurting from being in studio all week and weekend, sick and burdened. During our final reviews, the professors were critiquing our diagrams and axonometrics. After two and a half hours of painstakingly poring over each individual's work, as I was feverishly praying to Jesus to calm the storm in my head, they give us a break. I rush back to the studio to finish off the rest of what I needed and pinned it up. My work looks sickly and underfed, like myself. It's time for me to present, so I take a deep breath and exhale a stream of consciousness that seems to disturb the female professor, who frowns at me like I am a weed in a bed of beautiful budding sprouts. The class is a set of chess pieces. They are gentle with their criticisms, although I can feel their disappointment and I meekly nod at their suggestions. Of course, yes, I can do better, I will work harder. I can do that.

There is something serene to the surrender of my ambition to excel in this class. I used to be able to harness this energy, but I have grown beyond the point of grasping these fine hairs of theoretical education. The people in the class are brilliant and focused, but I cannot match their energy. I surrender to God, who is powerful above all authorities and thrones, and He is meek and humble. I find rest.

Z comes by, to give me acupuncture and we have a light conversation about people, thoughts about each other, some words of comfort. I am distraught, but I do not reveal it to him because he does not react well to anything that will upset his balance. I wonder if that will do well for our future. Perhaps I must struggle with this alone. Perhaps this is good for me. I am still learning a lot about myself. I cannot let fearful attraction be the center of my relationship with him.

A good friend comes over for a little while, and he is searching for something as well. It comes out reflectively through tranquil illustrations and observations. He describes a snapshot: A boy with a red helmet stand before his reflection in the pool. He holds an old yellow tether ball, and the pool reflects the blue sky. I want to know about this boy's life, but my friend does not want to put all of his cards on the table. We play with my prism glasses for a while, trailing our rainbow shattered fingers over the light. He ponders on how every experience with a friend may be the last one. I can see how much he has grown.

My inspiration washed over me like a sudden rising of tide, but I lost my grip and let it pass.
Lately, my thoughts have all been tied to the ocean. I wish I could open my heart to him, but I still haven't cracked the code myself.

I'm wasting time on the computer, blogging about my day. I have lots of projects due tomorrow, yet I am not alarmed by the amount of work due and am waiting to become desperate. It is the remnants of my self-destructive patterns, which are slowly washing away with the tide.