What it takes to cross the great divide seems more than all the courage I can muster up inside...

...But then we get to have some answers when we reach the other side. The prize is always worth the rocky ride.

I’m just so upset about Jerry Falwell’s passing. I can just imagine him sitting there in his office, bent sinisterly over his donation checks and then BAM!...struck by lightening. You know, they say that evilness raises your cholesterol. That and french fries. That’s just too damn bad. I can’t wait to see Jon Stewart tomorrow. Actually, I guess it’s really mean to get pleasure out of someone dying. He probably had a mother who loved him. I find myself fairly ruthless when it comes to crazy, revolting chrustians (as George would say).

Today was a hard day for me. I felt weepy all day. I wanted to be back in New York, alone. I don’t know why I would want that again. I don’t want it really, but it is just so frustrating to be here with no clear direction. And I’m doing all the right things: I’m writing every day, I’m taking care of my little garden, I’m playing music, I’m sending out resumes and filling out applications, I’m going to the Y, I’m watching depressing movies, I’m getting out with friends. I haven’t been so on top of things in ages. I’m doing all these things that I know are good for me...the concrete things, but I still just can’t shake this lost feeling. It creeps up on me in quiet moments or it just lingers under the surface, waiting to bubble over.

And it comes when I least expect it. Tonight I went upstairs and had a dance party of one. I turned my ipod up and just danced around to happy/angry music without any inhibitions for about 30 minutes. It’s been a while since I’ve let myself go like that. It’s always very therapeutic. And I got this welled up feeling in my chest that I thought was just pure joy, and maybe it was, but then I came down and came down hard. Before I even realized it, I fell apart. One second I was high as a kite and the next second, I’ve got snot and tears dripping onto the floor and I’ve cried my contact out. And for some crazy reason, the music went from Sin Wagon to A Long December, and I’m like “Maura, why would you put that fucking song on a dance mix?” Maybe this year will be better than the last. Hold on, excuse me Mr. Duritz, but is that calendar years? I think I’m still in the eternally long last year and it’s a hell of a long way till next year.

But I believe in the other side. I really do. My heart trusts that I just have to wait it out and hold on for the ride. I’ve believed that for my whole life, even as a little kid, that one day you can look back on the hard times with a sense of peace and accomplishment. It’s a gift, I think. Or maybe it is just my version of faith. It doesn’t necessarily make things easier. I’ve spent a good bit of my life wading through dark places and I know those places well. But I’ve never really entertained the possibility that I was beyond redemption or healing, not deep down.

Or maybe I don’t believe in the other side. It’s a big concept and I feel like I’ve visited it some. I’ve found that I can be two breaths away from drowning in some aspects but have my feet on desert dry land in others. So maybe I believe in lilypads, little resting spots. Maybe some are big and wide and leathery with plenty of room to spare for friends. And some are kind of shaky, thin and moist. And maybe one day you find a lilypad that is so sturdy and green and lovely that you decide to build your life there and let the water take you where it will. Okay, I’ll shut up with the metaphors now.