standing on the precipice of what remains of my life

So obviously the great Lenten experiment was a bust. Ran out of energy/gumption/anything significant to write about at the end. But the attempt was there and at least I wrote something, which is more than I had been doing before Lent.

A fellow traveler posted something that rang true for me. I, too, haven't really "felt" much this Lenten season. No ecstatic highs. No epiphanies. No overwhelming sense of God's presence. And as faithful readers can attest, I had more than my share of lows this season - lower than I've been in quite a while. I don't believe the two are related (Lent and my bouts with depression), though I do wonder if my writing did at least bring some of what I experienced to the fore. Still not sure that was a good thing - still feeling the effects of it. Was a complete ass this afternoon during our staff social. Lack of sleep is definitely not helping much, either. Too awake when it's time to go to bed last couple of nights - was up until 1AM both nights, back up at 5AM. Not nearly enough sleep. Here's hoping I can get some over break. Sleep, that is.

'Twas a good weekend (I know, it was forever ago, right?). Good to see everyone and to remember Jeremy. Not that that doesn't happen normally, but you know how it is. Still hard to believe he's gone. Still hard to believe that the grass hasn't grown in front of his grave yet. :) While we were standing around, sharing memories and scaring off other visitors, I began to look around at the other headstones around Jeremy's. Names, dates, each one a story. I wonder about Walter and Raymond and their shared headstone and the 21-year difference in their ages. How did they find each other? What was their story? Or Earnest and Linda, who got married when when he was 42 and she was 25. Standing there I couldn't help but find hope in those stories I don't know, that maybe life isn't completely over once tomorrow comes.

Other unknown stories - a man with two young children came to a newly dug grave - not even a headstone yet. They didn't stay long, but I couldn't help wondering if they were their to visit their wife and mom. It just felt like that. Reminded me everyone deals with pain - too often we get caught up in our own stories and forget to look around and see we're all dealing with loss, we're all clinging to those closest to us to help us get through. There's a poem I often read to my classes that sums it up pretty well:

Tuesday 9:00 AM

Denver Butson

A man standing at the bus stop
reading the newspaper is on fire
Flames are peeking out
from beneath his collar and cuffs
His shoes have begun to melt

The woman next to him
wants to mention it to him
that he is burning
but she is drowning
Water is everywhere
in her mouth and ears
in her eyes
A stream of water runs
steadily from her blouse

Another woman stands at the bus stop
freezing to death
She tries to stand near the man
who is on fire
to try to melt the icicles
that have formed on her eyelashes
and on her nostrils
to stop her teeth long enough
from chattering to say something
to the woman who is drowning
but the woman who is freezing to death
has trouble moving
with blocks of ice on her feet

It takes the three some time
to board the bus
what with the flames
and water and ice
But when they finally climb the stairs
and take their seats
the driver doesn't even notice
that none of them has paid
because he is tortured
by visions and is wondering
if the man who got off at the last stop
was really being mauled to death
by wild dogs.

One of my favorites.

Part of me wants to throw caution to the wind and stay up all night watching movies, trying to squeeze as much celebration as I can into tomorrow. I mean, it's not like I have to do anything once school ends, right? Although if I stay up all night tonight, I'll collapse in the middle of the Poms show tomorrow before I can get to Dewey's for my free pint glass and Graeters for my free scoop of ice cream (strawberry chip is back tomorrow!). I don't know. Of course, I'll probably be up anyway so I might as well do something. The question is, what should I watch? 40-Year-Old Virgin is a little too on the nose. Maybe a little High Fidelity. Watched that ten years ago when I turned 30. Though it might depress me just how little my life has actually changed since then...

Think I'll save talking about Sunday's Maproom until later. Our Journey to the Cross was a rough one for me. And it all started with this simple question: If you knew this was the last week of your life, how would you spend it? I'll share my thoughts for...well, probably Friday because I'll be too busy celebrating tomorrow to come here and type. Or maybe I won't be. We'll see.

See, after 11:00 and I'm not tired in the least. Not a good sign. One more hour until my birth-day (though technically I wasn't born until after 10:00 PM, so I don't turn 40 for another 23 hours). Goodbye 30s. Here's hoping my 40s are better than I can imagine right now...

Æ