i do myself rather a disservice with the way i dissect books

November 4, 2013

life has been a floffing flurry of event planning- them weddings, that is. while a gentle frothing now, in all likelihood the rhythm is set to intensify in the coming months. methinks planning for three weddings in three months be just a leetle much. justt a little. for someone who’s strongest suit really isn’t organising, this is irony.

so i’ve come here to ramble and (incoming irony alert!) organising my upper insides some. perhaps we are in the middle of irony day, or something. anyhow.

let’s begin with triffles: i’m beginning to get a feel of dresses, which, considering how it’s been wedding season, is about time. but the pity is, while perhaps the dress is out there, i have not been. there was one that called, but let’s sing the one that got away. then again i saw another, but they (invoking the nameless ‘they’ because it’s convenient and adds to the pathos) could not, would not let us be together, the discrimination against backless gowns and destroyers of beauty. cue popular vaguely tragically romantic lyric. you see i am on a roll today. and i shall roll the paragraph away with the observation that the dress that has been chosen, has been for another rather than mine; i shall only hope i pull off the dress on that day (figuratively, mind you), and wear it like i own it. i intend certain specific things unnamed here; but i will say that joy and i had a very entertaining conversation last night at 2 a.m. deciding how, and what to do. but nothing doing.

in other news, in other lives, there have been reflections, and stumbling upon old ones. there is a weight in reading thoughts past, in revisiting previous pains and confusions, in attempting to surface and understand lines drawn previously, and just what prompted them, what their connections are. the problem is, words written in hurting times are often puzzles themselves. how do we make sense of instinct?

maybe, we do what we can, the best we can. but even then, we don’t always. i hadn’t loved well, then, but acted like a child. flee, we are told; there was so much i should have fled from, that i would have been the better for.

still, thank God, by Him we are not the sum of our mistakes, for then i would be wretched. thank God, that by Him we are counted as ransomed, and redeemed, and that there is hope.


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