I’m heading over to the Wisdom’s St. Patrick’s day party in a bit. I’m on my spot in the couch trying to work something out.
Usually it is a lot easier to sit down and write. But I couldn’t do it before work today… I couldn’t get it together at work. And It isn’t working now. But I do think part of writing is discipline… is sitting down and composing, and editing, and fixing, and rewriting… at least get something down.
So today I read something penned by Kay Warren about her grief approaching the one year anniversary of her son’s suicide. I’ll post it here… But it is something that I wish I wrote. It expresses much of what I feel.
How do I feel? How is it going? How am I doing? I was doing fine. Now…. I don’t know… I have blisters on my big toes and on the ball of my left foot. On Wednesday, Jesse, a World Champion black belt, the one that gave me that last black eye… came by to do some sparring training. His drills were great… and left my feet blistered. But I was a little disappointed at how quickly sore my feet was and how difficult and distracting trying to cover any distance was.
I’m thinking of beating the crap out of someone. Just because. And this lack of mobility is problematic. It probably isn’t the mentally healthiest thing to do, nor is it very Christian. But as an American male, it is much easier and more acceptable to be pissed off angry than weepy sad. Anger gives a sense of significance and power and the illusion that even if you are entirely out of control, that you have some control… and there is some illusion that there is some kind of catharsis or emotional calisthenics to it. Now I probably won’t do it. But I like to think about it. I’m not really angry… not on the deeper level. I really do believe that under that anger is a load of sadness appropriate to the time of year.
The anniversary of Ethan’s death is coming up. It is only a few days away. And maybe that is why my feet have gone all sore and blistery. Maybe that is why I was late to work two days in a row. Maybe that is why I have an earache. Maybe that is why it is difficult to get words on paper. Marquita and I are going up to mark the day in Fresno… where a few of the students are gathering in front of the music building in his honor that night. And I hope they sing.