Baa, Baa, Black Sheep.

I was awake.

I had laid there, lifelessly, for what felt like years. I begged my eyes not to open, pleading insanity and began hoarding my sheep. If only I could stay like this. If only I could drift away, into a wide, open, breezy pasture that saluted one sole tree, looking content, and far off in the distance. I'd count sheep all day, I thought. Nothing but counting would matter - 14, 15, 16 - I imagined them in a line, waiting patiently as ever for their shepherds duty. All that the sheep wanted was a number, and all I had to worry about was giving them one - and that was easy. I would begin to know them by heart - the way number 9 walked, the way number 21 was rather sensitive, the way number 17 always wanted to be number 1, the way number 1 felt a huge weight of obligation, of being first in line. The way number 6 looked to me for comfort, nuzzling its face into my side. The way number 13 played, eyes wide and happy, the way 12 would protect me, the way 8 would sigh, the way 19 would call to me, the way 4 would reach for me, the way 2 would love me.

Time went by and my sheep became my life - I had purpose, and I cherished each of them. I was always watching, ready to relieve, to restore, to reinvigorate.

Then one went missing. I looked everywhere - I begged and begged the other sheep to help me look, to bring it back, but they consoled me instead, and promised the one would return. Days go by and I feel frantic as if I'm slipping from my little world of perfection.

I'm now missing two.

I try to forget and move on. The other sheep meaningfully proposed dreams and ideas and theories that I could cling to, and so I did.

I began to feel better. The sun was out most days, and I could get along just fine. Counting wasn't as easy as it used to be, especially after the first two losses, but I managed and started focusing on new things. I wanted to explore, I wanted to commit, I wanted to pursue. I started looking at other pastures in my off time, and some of the sheep came with me. They nodded in agreement as we went from one scene to the next, acknowledging and approving.

We finally made it back to our field to find the remaining sheep waiting. I was relieved they were still there, and was overflowing with hope and trust. I was excited, and clambered into my hut for sleep. I was exhausted.

My enthusiasm overflowed into the next morning, and the next, and the next. I planned and planned and went over all of our possibilities until my creativity was shot. I was connected to my sheep, I felt them, I heard them, and I knew them. And they were connected to me.

Slowly but surely, however, one by one went missing. At first I tried to accept the reality, that I would love the remaining sheep with all I had in hopes that they too, wouldn't leave, but I couldn't easily shake these obvious voids. I dearly missed those that had been lost. I helplessly reached for the others to send out a search party, but again, I was only met with words. This time they were cold and I felt as if I had failed them. They had high hopes for a shepherd who could count well. That's all they ever wanted, was just to be counted. Nothing more, nothing less.

I cried out to them, begging for forgiveness and to let me try again, but they walked away and out of sight. I collapsed to the damp ground from the morning dew, and my body began to tremble. I was alone, and I wasn't enough.

I didn't just want to count and I didn't just want to give numbers.

I wanted it all to mean more than just that.  

My eyes opened.

The dull, white, and unbecoming ceiling was an oxymoronic slate above me. Though years of paint had gone up on the interior walls, the ceiling had been neglected and always remained the same. I stared straight into it, and found that its outward appearance was a great deception. It had so much to tell me, but sat there silent, instead.

I give myself a few moments to become readjusted. I gently roll to my side and push up and greet the sun cascading before me. My hair is a mess and I've been in this sweatshirt for days.

I clamber out of bed, down the hall, and into the living room.

There's a fire going and I smile at Dad's non-verbal form of affection. I grab a cup of coffee and blanket and curl up beside it. Mom and Brother are busy both in the kitchen and in the other room, and my soon to be Sister greets me from the door. Family and friends both write, call, and take me away, and I can't help but feel their warmth - not just for me, but for my sheep, as well, and what they mean to me.

There's a reason why He's called a Savior - that even when I could feel so dejected, defeated, beaten, and broken - I feel the safest on my knees, where I can only look up. I suppose it's a place we all need to be sometimes.


And what a place at that.


 

I Blame You, Steve Jobs*.

This morning I realized - rather - this morning I finally admitted the factually annoying notion into my conscience that technology blows.

We as a society have become so dependent on the non-human. Forced to rely on hard drives and always seeking further distanced communication, the electronic gods seem to be against me (or maybe it's just my hormones, but I'd like to think else-wise).

It's interesting how much of an effect said technological objects have over us. For example, I was told I was getting a call last night. I waited. And waited. And waited. And got tired. I decided to send a text message instead, stating that I was going to bed and hoped all was well.

I waited for a reply back. And waited. And waited.

Then fell asleep. I woke up this morning, seeking some sort of notification on my phone. Negative.

Within that time span of about 9 hours, I couldn't help but become disheartened. I couldn't help but become upset simply by an inanimate object (or is it?) staring at me with nothing to say.

Turns out, calls were made and texts were sent, but I unfortunately didn't receive them, all the more reason for myself to be justifiably frustrated. Which, in turn, induces even more discontentment due to the manipulative emotive hold the iPhone has on me.

I'm not quite sure on how to break this pattern, especially since phones have become revolutionary, so much so that majority of individuals own at least one here in the United States. Businesses would surely face tremendous losses, humanity would go ape at the mere conception of having face to face interactions, and the world would cease to exist as we know it**. I suppose I could try to not use my phone for a week, but then other means would be relied upon - gchat, skype, email, only adding to the possibility of malfunction, miscommunication, and furthermore, disappointment. And the vicious cycle ensues.

"It has become appallingly obvious that our technology has exceeded our humanity."

Cheers.

CourtReplies

* Head of Apple. I blame you for all my problems.
** It's called sarcasm. Forty years ago there were no cell phones, life was personable, individuals survived, and might I add it was more prominent for women to be housewives.

Hands At The Ready.

"Are you on your period?"

This is undoubtedly one of the top questions to ask a female that will surely put her mood farther down the drain once asked. Welcome to no-mans land, ya'll.

I feel the need to redeem myself, rather, counterpoise my prior post by defending my womanhood.

Although I do have many masculine traits, I still can not help the genealogical complexity that resides among each chromosome, and tonight was a prime example; The beast was let out to play. I want to feel like I matter, even in a room barred with situational pretexts, and when I'm experiencing an emotion of unappreciativeness*, will undoubtedly analyze and wonder why I'm imagining myself on a comparable level with a sea cucumber (they exist, but no one cares**). Once I bring this negative sensation to the table, I of course have to do the apologizing. So I do, repeatedly. And this is where the line is drawn.

I don't understand the male brain sometimes, because after all, I am not - I'm a girl, sista, woman, matron, the double x. I feel that with that, I deserve the chance to be a little emotional, not want to talk, and for once in my life throw understanding to the wind. But then again, that get's us nowhere. So I'm thankfulhat it's drawn out of me, I just don't appreciate the feeling of stupidity that follows.

Moral of the story, I suppose, is that I still have to maintain my claim to femininity sometime or another. After all, if you didn't appreciate me for that quality, then you're better off surrounding yourself with testosterone.

CourtReplies

* Fake word.
** I'm sure someone cares, someone who's not hormonal and on their period, though.

The Dinner Party, Act 2.

I just got slapped in the face by the hand of disesteem, and let me be the first to say I did not like it.

I caught myself sitting in a glass house throwing stones, something that from a metaphorical-I'm-reflecting-on-the-subject-stance-now seems rather ludicrous (not the rapper). I realized that I'm a huge hypocrite when it comes to certain things. For example, I feel that I can have the last cookie and you cant, it's a-o-k for me to recite commercials word for word and it not be a sign of laziness, or the fact that my room's allowed to be disorganized and yours isn't.

When this ignorant thinking became exposed, my stomach fell - just like when you're on a roller coaster and keep your eyes closed right before and during a drop, it's that same feeling (but I don't particularly like this source of adrenalin). There is a good thing that comes out of it, though. Actually, two positive things: the first, I know how being buddy buddy with guy friends looks and feels to another person, the second, I need to have more self confidence. The latter is just for my own referential purpose, really, but I now know what I need to focus on and what not to.

My hormones are out of wack, so possibly this has something to do with my current mentality (get it? Men-tality). I'm happy, you're happy (right?), everyone's happy - so we should take the drops as they come, eye's closed and all. Be that as it may, life wouldn't be worth the ride without them.