rambling rosemarie

I haven't written in quite some time and I have missed it. Writing is therapeutic for me. It's a chance to give voice to the random inner monologue that swirls around in my head. Writing is safe. Safer than sitting down with a live body and having a chat at any rate. There's generally instant feedback and vulnerability when in person communication occurs. Yuck.  I have anxiety at the very thought. Relationships that matter scare me silly.  I can hold my own in conversation but to actually share the oddities that make me the woman that I am seems far too risky. If you really knew what craziness resides in me, you'd run for the hills. Well, maybe not run but you'd likely wonder if I had a few kinks in my slinky. I am good-natured about some of my quirks, even though they have been exploited by friends and family as a source of amusement.  Take my inability to drink the entire contents of a glass.  I used to drive my mother crazy because I would have an inch of milk ...

Dear God, It's me, Rosemarie. I'd say something clever like, "I guess you're wondering why I am writing" but your omnipotence sort of makes that a silly way to start things out, doesn't it? It seems a bit odd to begin a letter with adoration that you, Almighty God, deserve. Perhaps I could have a do-over? Dear Almighty and Most High God; Creator of all that is and ever will be; God of Abraham, Isaac and Moses; The One who provided manna in the wilderness and split the Red Sea; The God who turns the hearts of men and who provides the only way of salvation through His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord; God of the insignificant likes of even me, Yeah, while that salutation is a more fitting way to address You, it doesn't roll off the tongue that easily and I haven't begun to scratch the surface. The more I start to list the more I realize I am leaving out. What's really overwhelming to me is the invitation I have as a believer to address you in a fa...

I have been sitting at my computer screen for much longer than I care to admit. I have been staring at it and it has been daring me to write something.  Anything. Even if it is wrong.  Even though it will not be read.  Forget about it being edifying. Don't even try for mildly entertaining. Just write. Get it out. Emotions without expression are poison to your soul. Vomit verbiage until you've purged. Go ahead and write about how much you miss your dog after putting him to sleep yesterday.  Describe how soft and silky his cheeks were and how not knowing you were taking him to his death, he put his chin on his bed and gazed contentedly at you as you waited for the vet to come out. All the while you stroked his head and ears trying to remember forever the contours.  Try to articulate what it feels like to know that the one creature on the planet that preferred your company to anything or anyone else trusted you as you put him out of his misery when he didn't know...

Here's the thing. Sometimes, in an effort to convince myself that I am spiritually sound and full of faith, I ignore things that bother me. Do I think it's a good idea? No. Do I think that I am fooling people? Some of them, yeah I am. Do I think that God is unaware? In the moments that precede my doubting His existence I am certain of it. Today life is crashing around me. Today I have no more internal space on my hard drive to archive the emotions. They are spilling down my cheeks and calling audible plays in my sobs. I am cuss out loud miserable. No freakin' answers from me. No comforting verses. Today I don't even want a do over. I just want out. Sad part is I have no where to go. So I will shed some more tears, drink some more coffee and try to put one foot in front of the other as I pace the confines of my home and hope for reason to prevail. The trouble with being single is not having someone to tell that you're on the edge. The trouble with blogging ...