There's just no way around it.

There's no way I'm ready to do this, or selfless enough to go through with this. But all the same... I'm doing it.

I don't really know what to expect, so I can't say that I'm excited. But I kind of do know what to expect. I know I'm going to be listening to God, or as much as possible. But the weird thing is, I haven't been close to Him at all lately. Really weird distance. It's like not being sure if your best friend is upset with you. That kind of a feeling, I guess, if you don't know God. I don't like it at all. But I'm doing it to myself. It's always my fault, never His. That part kind of sucks, because you know you can never ever be blameless. It's sort of something I haven't entirely let go of yet.

Blameless as a baby stomping on ants.

I just looked over some of my journals from my freshman and sophomore year of high school. I was so cocky, and so stuck and stubborn, and about five hundred other negative adjectives. God, I was such the epitome of teenage girl. Sucks. It's weird that my handwriting was so much better when I was younger. Isn't that supposed to be reversed? Oh, and note this: "Aiichiwawah!" I wanted my journal to experience that sound.

Does anyone else have a problem with completing tasks?

It's weird that certain things bring us such satisfaction. We can't uphold our marital vows, but we can surely gain some frightening momentum for our worst and smallest habits.

My written journal is leagues more valuable to me than this thing. I don't like that this entry is such a journal entry. Sorry about that, by the way. I'm trying to remedy it, but I'm falling pretty quickly and steeply here. Whatever. Sometimes I wonder if I'm holding myself back too much, and then I remember some things that I promised this Guy and next I wonder if it's brainwashing.

It's not.

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Questions seem to arise like brain cells exist and we're dancing together as if we weren't locked between legs and arms and necks, and the blood flow shortens - comparable to the restriction of your tonsils when a smooth and sour toxin sludges down your esophagus, funny plays, funny plays, experimental plays, dramas and dramas - comparable to nose bleeds, insistent twitching of the eyes, and the way that they don't notice for once that small defect that you really don't care so much yourself about, And then 'tis steered directly under a bridge: very, very small, short, round - round? rounded, and soft - soft? malleable; as malleable as the mind of the creator and as fixed as the mind of the Creator.