I had a definite mixed day today at church. Someone asked me if I was all right and I couldn’t figure out why. I was actually less obviously whacked out than usual! But I got it right away. Anyone who knows me know how I take shocking deaths and I found it immensely hard to be the perky tambourine player when Scott Bauer was dead, and across town at Church on the Way the grief was evident. I just found out last night—and I hate the shock of death. I hate things like this and they make me ache for the family he had and the wonderful church. I heard him preach several weeks ago. He talked about hope. It is absolutely devastating to imagine his family without him and the church dealing with this. Too many pastors have died lately—too much tragedy.

I love my church here but sometimes I don’t FEEL like bouncing out on the floor with all my “stuff.” Thing is it looks obvious when the “dancing girl” doesn’t. Mostly I wanted to leave when the first song started. Then, believe it or not, my dream (see below) was haunting me for various reasons. It was just weird. The sermon was good and everything was fine. It is easier to be here knowing I am going—hi! How FICKLE do I seem? But it is hard too. They did a video for pastor appreciation day—and guess who got left on the cutting room floor? I was not the only one—there were a few of us (it was not edited well anyway and I wish they would have let me at the editing!), but I saw it as symbolic.

It is no secret anymore. It is what I hold on to. I am needing it to be tomorrow even though I dread the return to work—I need answers, But my great fear is the places I have hope will fall through and then I really and truly don’t know HOW I will handle it if that happens. No joke. I don’t think I can do this til June. See the funny thing is I thought just being RELEASED to go was enough to keep me hanging on, but it isn’t. Only a few people know how much I truly HATE it here. I hate every day life. I stayed at church until 3:30 today because I didn’t want to get back on the freeway and see the real world. I guess that was good because it helped me get to know some people better, but the motive keeping me was not good—even though I DID enjoy it. But I have toned down the reality some after that first initial time of despair. I am not despairing—and have not been depressed in 2 or three weeks, BUT I still truly hate it here. I can’t explain it—nothing LOOKS as if it is that bad. It would not SEEM to be something one would hate. But I do. And I just don’t think I can make it til June. Three things have to happen 1) the union has to tell me I can legally get out of my contract (though I think the district would let me go anyway) 2) My landlord has to release me from my lease and 3) I have to have a job. I actually know what I want to do. But getting to do it is not that easy. And if everything falls apart tomorrow, I am not sure how I will take it. I am holding on. I am sick of the battle, sick of being sick, sick of the emptiness. I want to be me again. I guess I blew it—only I know I had to come to find out. That is who I am—no, that is who I WAS because I have learned a great life lesson. I have only shared it with two people—my pastors here and there. But none of my friends. I will find it easier to share with some strange group of people than my closest friends. The I-Told-You-Sos from years ago or the knowing nods will be unbearable so I have to hope they will believe in me without knowing. Right now I can’t share it. Not yet. I know. God knows. And my pastors know. Maybe that is why they can so easily see this as it is and also release me. I fear the judgments—and I fear the loss of a great friendship in some ways. But worse than that I fear living my life here now that I know it is not for me.

All I can think about is jobs. That is the answer. If I have one I can go and if I don’t I stay til I do. And I am sacred because I want to go home. I have never wanted something with such deep longing in me. I can’t explain it—the tears I cry of ones of such great heartbreak. It is wild. It is the last thing I expected. I feel bad at times. I want to apologize to everyone who believed in me. I want to explain it so they understand and yet I am ashamed too. I wonder if anyone will ever believe in me or help me again. I wonder if I would blame them if they didn’t.

Darrell told me a place I can get a trailer hitch put on my car. He was concerned if they would put one on mine. The U-Haul website says mine will but he said they would not on his Honda years ago. If I can’t tow I am in deep trouble! I guess I will head over there maybe Wednesday to ask, since it is near the church. The funny thing I have so much free time that I could go after work tomorrow, but I don’t have the motivation. Maybe I would if I knew it was happening.

I am going to end with the dream I wrote about this morning:

It is the end of Daylight Savings Time so I woke up even earlier. I spent the last troubled moments (hours?) of sleep in and out of a dream. In the dream I was on an American Airlines plane (that is certainly normal!) at LAX. It was my flight to Newark for the PA Shachah conference. Not only did I have trouble getting to the airport and it almost didn’t happen but then we sat, and sat, and sat. And then I was starting to panic. I was suppose to be on a mountain in PA at 7 p.m. EST that very night and so that meant I had already lost three hours and then the plane sat. I wasn’t bored. I seemed to have friends on the plane or at least people to talk to. I made phone calls and stuff. But we sat. I tried to talk to someone—I had to get there because if we wanted another day I would miss all of Thursday and half of Friday. It was terrible just sitting there. And then not long after I woke up and realized I was up for the day I realized the meaning. It has nothing to do with my flight to Newark (that was only the metaphor because of the fact that my flight there is over 5 hours and back is 6 hours and I never do more than about a three hour flight and I am dreading the time in that mini space, so talk about feeling trapped…) Anyway, it wasn’t Newark, it was about being trapped in LA! As a matter of fact I could pinpoint it even MORE accurately—I know EXACTLY what it represented. I knew it would show up in my dreams but at least it was not awful like some anxiety stricken dream. I recall being more annoyed with American because of the problems with my Boston flight in July and also thinking but I asked people to PRAY for this Shachah trip!

That was my dream. Sometimes I dream too close to home.