Lately, it has been a feeling of death. No, not death like black rimmed eyes, and skeletons and dark. Rather, implosion. Collapsing in on myself. Deteriorating.
Sometimes, when I am hopeful, I wonder if this is the experience of a seed, who, content in their size and skin and reliant on their identity as such, is taken completely by the wayside when placed in the ground, and made to errupt and transform, shapeshifting seemingly overnight in a way that is foreign and shocking and isolatingly unfamiliar… but in the end, probably, good.
But mostly it’s just the feeling of death right now.
I am at a job which occupies 37.5 hours of my time each week. I sit, I gaze, glazed-eye, into a computer screen. I am listless. There is no apparent need for me here, though I am assured again and again by my superior that I am helpful as her assistant.
At times, I miss my previous life. It seems, in memory at least, that I was more engaged – that there was struggle and triumph and beauty and moments where God needed to show up. Paradoxically, that does exist here I suppose, but it’s enormously more difficult to see in the monotony of seven and a half hours of nothing to do whatsoever, aside from deleting PowerPoint slides for the presentations of older, non-tech-savvy adults on occasion.
Oh the dread monotony. I can’t stand it. I am stifled, ill, inert.