Closer.

Being here feels like divorce in some ways. I have my home in California with pictures of my friends from Chicago. I have my home at Moody with pictures of my friends from California. I call both places home and I trade back and forth. I live out of a suitcase and I'm better at packing now than ever. When I'm here I'm here, though.
I can't hang up the phone. I am face to face with the people that I love and that at the same time I hurt for the most.
And I keep running into writer's block. And I'm tired from school still, but I can't sleep in. So, I sit and wait to write by writing. I stay awake when I promise myself sleep. I run when I say jog. I swear I'm going to unpack, but I cannot.
My life is full of a thousand ironies that are popping up to the surface as my stomach aches when I think about pouring it all out into words. But I cannot. And I don't know why.
Slowly, God is coaxing it out of me. I am starting to breathe a little more as I slide down in my seat and stop wearing an ID around my neck. A weight is lifted.
...
When a person is in a submarine, they always get depressurized. This is when they have so much pressure from the atmosphere that they can't come up too fast or their bodies cannot adjust. This can cause death.
Perhaps, God is depressurizing me right now to let me come up slowly. The fact that I am not making many typos, nor and I using many contractions (note the 'Cannot's not the 'can't's. ) shows that I am ready t write, but my heart is tired. I am needing sleep right now.
So, here's to sleep.
Here's to family.
Here's to a good meal.
Here's to California.
Here's to Chicago.
Here's to my heart, wherever it is.
And Here's to the God who lets me surface slowly.
Baruch Ata Adonai.