Truant Memphis
Pages From The Filling Station

Where's The Money?

6/11/2015

 
I want you to know that I am not crazy. I'm broken, I admit. I am confused, that is true, but I am not crazy. This world has presented me with enough tangible realities to cling to that I know I am functional. I can intermingle. I can play the game. I'm just not sure how much talent I have for it, and I don't understand how one maintains focus with so many things to think about. So many variables to consider. How will I get the money?

I was raised soft, often lonely for no reason, and kind. My temper was a birthright, but my compassion came from lesson. I wanted everyone to get along and love one another. I wanted to play all day, but how would I get the money?

I loved Jesus and God. I'm sure I still do, though my vision isn't what it used to be. My childish clarity was concise, and beautiful, and I wanted to teach it to others. But I wondered too much, then wandered too much, then found myself lost. Then one morning I woke up and all I could wonder was how I would get all the money.

I don't want to feel so desperate, so angry, so confused, so slighted by life or God or my own lack of whatever it takes to have a happier, more successful life. But you can't control the way you feel. All you can control is the way you respond, the way you react to all the bullshit emotions you've been blessed with. And still, how will I get the money?

So here I sit, sane as the button on your shirt. Only not as thoughtless, no sir. So much to think about. So much to feel. So much mud to swim through for all these things I want: Peace, love, happiness. But the thing I just can't figure is, how I will get all the money.
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