A story of two days. . .

[Disclaimer: this is not a witty, sarcastic diatribe—sorry—more like journal entry. Hate to disappoint, but what are you gonna do? Sue me?]
Let’s start out with yesterday, which was Wednesday. It was the quintessential fall day. Gorgeous. Perfect weather, perfect breeze, perfect colors. Fall. Fall. Fall. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. Nearly. I have been sick all week, and yesterday I woke up after five hours of sleep and could not go back to bed. So, I stayed under the covers on the futon with Dunkyn and watched a few episodes of King of Queens. It was the most relaxed and as close to feeling really sane again as I have felt in months. Then, I got on my computer (still in bed on the futon, mind you) and decided I would send all my pictures that I had been taking the past year and a half to get processed so I could put them in scrapbooks. Yes, I scrapbook. Yes, I am a fag. Yes, people do throw sharp objects at me as I walk down the street—who asked you! Anywho, please quit interrupting, I hit the button to go to ‘My Pictures.’ It opened, as per normal; however, there were no pictures to be found—anywhere. Literally thousands of pictures simply gone. All my pictures of Dunkyn, all the family holidays, the parties with friends, and every picture I have of the man I fell in love with—gone. I searched everywhere for about ten minutes to no avail. Lost it. Completely. Well, you know, Heaven forbid I actually go a whole three days this week without crying!
Needless to say, hours were spent on the computer, on the phone to the expensive help line, with my nose in a paper towel and the bags under my eyes growing ever more obscene—still, no pictures appearing. Just when I think I really don’t have more of my heart to hurt or lose, life just bitch slapped me across the face. There is a certain pleasant tingling sensation as the salt first hits the open wound, but that exotic thrill soon wears off and all that is left is excruciating pain.
While I could go on for several paragraphs dwelling on my angst, anger, and annihilation, I will spare you the torment. I will delete all the tears and mortal wailing and pleading with God. See how much I love you? So, cut already, you are saying. Fine: Mid-Afternoon: my wonderful neighbor KK (wonder what his middle initial is? Hmmm. Curiouser and curiouser. . .) came over looked at my computer, hit one and a half keys and bam, there my pictures flooded before my very eyes. True, I can not yet manage to get them printed off, but they are there and at some point will be made flesh. All praise to the Lord Most High. Not even being facetious. So, a wonderful day turned horrible day, turned miraculous.
Onto today. . . I have been depressed all day. There I paused in the typing for several seconds. Have you recovered from the shock? Ok, good then. I did teach today, though, and that was enjoyable. I brought in cookies for the kids. If you can’t teach ‘em, bribe ‘em!
Tonight, despite my everlasting gobstoper of melancholy, I was privy to a miracle of another sort. There is something about seeing someone in the state for which they were created. It is transcendent. Really. I had the honor of being one of the chosen to attend the beginning session of a six (tmi alert, every time I type six, I accidentally type sex, then have to go back and change it—can we all say ‘sexual frustration’ together?) week stint of TB’s Bible study. Now, I consider TB to be one of the most fine, wonderful, honorable, genuine, real men that I know. He has changed my life and in many, many ways saved it—and I am not even being my normal dramatic self. In addition to being a friend of mine, he borders on being a hero as well. So, with that said, the boy could talk about asparagus fungus, and I would be enraptured and enlightened. Still, though, it was awesome to hear him teach tonight. I know of the pain he has been through and some of the curves life has sent his way. To see him and hear him speak of his faith in God and be able to journey down this road with him is miraculous. In spite of hurt, in spite of our brokenness, grief, doubt, and anger, God uses us. God loves us. God allows himself to be seen through the eyes of those like TB and heard through the voice and felt through the arms of those like TB. I was humbled and induced with hope to see God use His people in a real and purposeful way.
I sit now with my ever faithful companion asleep beside me on the front porch swing, as he drools on his paws. I sit now, just as hurt and broken and sad, and growing ever more lonely by the day, to be honest, but still, I sit here now. I am alive. The fight is not over. The end is not present. The truth (not life’s secrets, but the truth) as plain as the tears. Life is good, even when it is not—I still choose to live. I still choose to hope. I still choose to love.
I looked in the mirror today and noticed that my cheeks are starting to sag, just like my fathers. I am already debating the pros and cons of plastic surgery. While I may loose in the art of boyfriends, I will be damned if I am going to let gravity beat me! How’s that for a final thought of the day! Can’t accuse me of being deep!