How can I stop now?

Am I giving up? Am I entirely wore out of the fact that the Bible laughed in my face this morning at Church? Is it horrible that I forced myself out of bed, even though thoroughly content to stay with the boys all afternoon? Is it awful, all I can think of is having coffee, but I cant reach my cup? I did go. I did get up. I fixed my hair, I applied my lotion, I got all purtyed up. I sat with Mama and Daddy. I parked across the road. I sat with my knees crossed. I felt as if Pastor were talking directly to me. (CONVICTION) I know. I NEED to be an example. I BELIEVE I am. I KNOW, in some small ways, I am helping others. I feel it so deeply in my heart, I feel like a raging Joan of Arc. Do you know my fear? My fear, so loud, so blatant, so RIGHTEOUS. It holds me to a point, I decide to berate myself for not trying harder. For not being strong enough. If I'm not fucking strong enough, why do I have to do it? Why, do I have this EATING DRIVE in me?

It swallows me whole. It stares me down. Hunts me in the woods. I fall for the bait every time. I long for it. I long for the feeling. I have, such passion for doing the right thing. Understand? Dig?
Do you know? Do you know the times, I say the RIGHT thing, because, I know, it will help?

I'm not a Savior. I'm not the Anti-Christ. But I am here. Right here. STRUGGLING. With you. Mad, so mad at God, that when Pastor said, "you have to forgive the person, you are mad at, so you can move forward." True.

Have I not done the things asked of me? Have I not forgiven Thomas? Have I not leapt leaps and fucking bounds of forgiving him? Letting him go. Closing those doors. Have I NOT, obeyed?

Have I not done the right thing? That's what You, God, delivered through Pastor Bob at Piedmont Baptist Church this morning? Did I not sit there, and hear the words, straight from The Holy Spirit, who lives in me, who lives in everyone....
Correct me, did you not say, "Isn't it better to be at peace, than to be RIGHT?"

Do I not live this for you?

Not being an excellent human being, God, but have I not done things, very difficult, THINGS, TASKS, ORDEALS!!!! Have I not done these things?

I pray for daily bread.
Because You tell me to.
And, You give it so graciously.

Why do I feel so much disappointment? Why do I feel abandoned? Why, Lord, do you want me to have all these fruits of the spirit? If, I feel, sometimes, I yield nothing.

See the Joan of Arc attitude? That makes me laugh out loud. The fact, I am wearing this Martyr attitude, bestowed on myself. It's fucking ridiculous.

Am I not eating again? Have I not taken car of my health like you asked? Do you remember, how much physical pain, the absolute depths of my soul were shattered, when things had to change? Remember the fucking accountability I am/have/will TAKE!!!!! to do what I have to do.
To serve you. To fulfill purpose.

To not feel so HORRIBLE FOR BEING A SINGLE WOMAN. Why are those words so ugly? Why, am I so scorned for being a DIVORCED WOMAN? When I did nothing, but do, what I committed to doing? Why, do I bear this Scarlett letter?

Would I rather be a sake in the grass, deceitful person who has everything to trade for a shred of something I desire? That I am told to pray for? That in 1 Corinthians, your precious word, tell us all, as Christians, it is better to fulfill the person, if they want a partner, they should desire, a said realationship, that they should BE GRANTED, this want, THAN TO BURN?

Than to burn?
Am I not on fire? Daily. For you? For my Life. For what I have to do? Where is this direction? And if I am so inspiring, a muse, of some kind, why do I feel as if I am failing everyone?

Here is why. I know I can do better, I know, my goals, are going to be accomplished. I know, in my heart of hearts, my sweet, dear, friends, I am apparently way more. Way more than a small, farmer's daughter. I know.

Shouldn't I be as proud as a peacock?

Shelane and I saw this couple at Target. This woman, was average. Her ring, was huge.
I asked Shelane, (Mr. Wise, I told Ms. Skinny Bitch Shelane, you had complimented her name.) (She said, Thank you, like The New Southern Belle.) The man, was nothing to gawk at. Which is fine. but they didn't match. It was odd. It was like Shelane knew what I was thinking.
At first, I noticed her outfit. She had a gorgeous blue skirt on. Then, like a bolt of lightening, I asked SB Shelane, "What we were doing wrong?" She said, "Nothing at all." "We both, just need more." Sound superficial? Judgemental? Fuck off. Stop reading my blog. This is it.

Not Sex in the City whats her face, writing about being single. I write about being RELATABLE.
I can, in ways relate to everyone. I often, like Mr.Rodgers in the neighborhood, put on my cardigan sweater. I go to the Land of Make Believe, and I am happy there.

I believe, I just found the rub, here. I have to do things in order. I had to go to church today, and have these snippets of me.

I forgot to tell you the meltdown moment. My family, my sister's family, and another family from church were going to lunch. Like every Sunday, we eat together. I had texted Sue, and wrote,
"I end up hating Sunday lunch sometimes, because it reminds me how alone I am."

Then, I start crying. Wait. Sobbing. Uncontrollably. I go to Mama, and say, I have to go. I cant eat. I'm not hungry. I need to go. Sobbing. My sunglasses wet with tears, Rachel tries to ask whats wrong, and all I could hear were my tears. Full, and angry. I ran to the car, sprinting like a racehorse. Knowing, all I could bear was to cry. I drove. I wanted to smoke. I called Sue.

I told her. Everything. And she identified with every word. And, apparently, so do you.
Because, you wouldn't read, or follow, or ask. Or call, or email, or apologize. I see how fragile we all are.

I'm just going to try the rest of the day.

And go to the flea market. I have a suitcase to buy.