Love, words, and other beautiful things

*I started this post a long time ago, and never published it. It's a little bit beautiful to me, albeit quite rambling-ish, so I thought I would finish 'er up and get out in the world.
Especially because I know I've been so ridiculously boring on this blog lately.
I mean, really, two posts in the past month? And one of them a book review?
....yeah...



I have always been one of the most emotional people I have ever met

(followed closely by (or perhaps a little behind) my mother).

I am sensitive.

I take things personally.

I cry and my whole day is ruined over

a dying rabbit on the side of the road, his back legs run over by a car -

and I spend fifteen minutes with that rabbit, my dog tied to the distant fire hydrant, and I pet him - he relaxes at my touch and I cry because that's all I can do.

I cry when we don't have enough money

I cry when my Dad says something he would normally say in a joking voice, but this time it just didn't quite sound like a joke.

I cry when my brother is unhappy.

I cry when others are in pain.

I cry when a boy I hardly knew kills himself - I cry and I ache for his family and it isn't until I distinctly hear a voice from God telling me, 

"This is not your battle."

that I am able to stop crying.

I cry when I become an aunt again -

and I cry when I lose that nephew so soon afterwards.

I cry at commercials, too,

and little kid's movies,

and songs on the radio.

I cry when I'm PMS-ing.

But I also cry when I'm not.

I cannot give a talk in church without crying

(Adam once told me, 

"Ya know, it used to scare me when you would cry in public like that.

But now it doesn't bother me so much because I know you're always going to do it.")

I am emotional - 

but I have decided I will not call myself 

"A wreck"

I have learned to be grateful for these emotions of mine. 

It means I know how to empathize and sympathize

I know how to bear another's burden

When I say,

"I know how you feel."

I really feel I do. 

I am not only more susceptible to crying than the average joe,

I also love the deepest love I can possibly muster - 

holding nothing back.

When I love,

I love with all I own and possess and touch and taste and feel.

I give everything to love ---

and it's hurt like hell on occasion, 

(and I'm not just talking about guys, here, either - 

I sure love my besties from the bottom of the ocean to the top of the moon)

but I've never, ever regretted it.

And I think all of this sensitivity and hyper-exposure to emotions and love and depth and intensity, somehow stems from my love of words.

Pathetic or not, all of this big long post about my emotions was sparked by this book. 

Since my book review post wasn't quite enough for getting all this out, 

I had to keep going.

The day after finishing the book, I was watching Ridiculousness, a silly homemade "Jackass" type show where people are dumb and get hurt, and though I normally would have found it funny,
 it felt irreverent, what with that book still on my mind.

I listened to If I Die Young, and it literally hurt me.
It was too soon, too close, too applicable.

Both Delirium and the song allude to many different love poems/poets, including Cummings and Tennyson, and I've since started reading the first poetry I have read since graduating. It's invigorating.

These emotions of mine were overpowering me, and until I got them out,

I wasn't able to think about anything else. 

I tried vocalizing this....all this, ramble....to Adam,

but it all came out sounding lost and pathetic and vague and childish.
And yes, I'll say it again:
A b.o.o.k. did this to me.

Why is that important?

That's how I had my revelation ---

I am not meant to speak.

Not like this, anyway.

No,

this girl was born 

to write.

I have a burning at the center of me that has been there for as long as I can ever remember -- that is only ever quenched when I write.

Words, language, sentences, poetry --

all of it,

it's all become a system of symbols that somehow get cramped up inside of me and I need, I absolutely need, to release it.

I need to create something beautiful - and words are the only tools I know how to use.

And that is why I am participating in
NaNoWriMo
A friend of mine from my church invited me to participate in it with her, and, at the time, I nervously agreed.

But now,
I am geared up.
I'm ready to try the one thing that has been imprinted on my brain since I learned of the existence of words ----
I'm going to write a novel.
I can't guarantee its length, its complexity, its beauty, its comprehend-ability, or its enjoyment-factor (or that I will stop using words the wrong way)
but I can guarantee I will put my whole efforts in writing it.
I have 20 more days to plan it out, but I can't start writing until November 1st.
And then, the month of November will be dedicated to creating something that was once only in existence in my mind. It's exciting.

If you're interested and want to join us, let me know!