Not quite sure what's been going on lately but I've felt the insane urge to write. It's strange; sometimes I have nothing for weeks on end, and then there's an explosion that lasts for a few days where everything slops onto the canvas and it's sticky and turns into a syrupy conglomeration around the mouth of the container.

No soy qué tú eres.

Father, so many different voices! So many sounds, so many calls, so much nagging and advice and cautions and disputes and it's all incessantly incessant. So many questions, so much jousting, so much juggling and pacifying and misunderstanding, miscommunication, misinterpretation, mistakes. So many minutes spent pulling at my hair and worrying and thinking and trying to mentally unwind. I feel raw, as if I've been standing on the edge of the sea and the wind is salty and its ripping at my skin until I'm red and sore to the touch, burned by the howling and bitterness of its roar. I'm back on the beach, the stupid beach where I started, and it's time to go back to the hill country (Monday, August 4, 2008) but oh, Father, I lost your letter with the directions and I'm so lost. In most regards, anyways.

But I know that there is hope. Oh, what a beautiful word! Esperanza. Para el futúro, para el presente, y para el pasado con todos de mis errores. I have hope in the Lord my God, for He alone is worthy. I am so thankful for the 6:15 prayer time and the accountability; even though it's only been two days it's like a breath of fresh air that I've been needing so badly. Father, I want to breathe You in so that Your aroma exudes from me and people wonder what I've been smoking.