Sketch Twenty-one

Rehabilitation Hospital:

I really don't want to do this sketch; I guess I will just put it out there. Vincent is sharing a room with me; I have a bed now. Alright, the room is long with one corner cut out for the bahroom. Not sketching the bathroom. Anyhow, the wall, where the beds snuggled up against, is blue; the other walls are cream on the bottom and an off gray on top. Of course the currents that all use in rooms such as this.

I can't do this. I want to sketch but I can't concentrate and I don't want to type up my surroundings. So, I'll force myself to just write anything, anything at all.

Anything: yepp; this may be nonesense. Nonsense is better than nothing. Oh, forgive any mispellings and any wrong forms of a word. Tired. The past six weeks, maybe longer, has drained this body greatly. With tomorrow Thanksgiving, I will sleep as late as I please--no schedule to keep! I feel as if I have been locked up in a jail for a very long time. My emotions are messy; messy emotions are hard to deal with. Did figure out that I have this emotional situation that someone finally named for me: "Out of Control." It isn't that I am out of control, it is that my home that once I managed is no longer in my control, no part of it, nor form of it, absolutely nothing. It goes much much further than that. This includes relationships. With a strained marriage already, a teenage daughter who is rebelling, a grandson who is soooooo upset with me for not coming home, I am a stranger in my own home. What will it be like when I return? I already do not feel comfortabel going home; it doesn't even feel right to call it home; I am homeless in the sense of "feeling" a home. This experience has brought much to my attention. Through it all, I have had a few good friends. Words of wisdom, and words of hurtful truth from each has allowed me to see where my future lies. I have a very hard road ahead. The most important part of this journey has been finding my place with God once again; God's grace has shown itself; God's voice has loudly spoken, "This is MINE, do not worry, I will take care of this, just live, love, pray, keep faith and hope, and share. This is MINE; take care of you as I help you; This is MINE." Yeah, I was yelled at two days ago while showering. Started my prayer, and not but a few seconds into it, I heard God yelling at me.  Ha ha, my parent was screaming at me; guess I hadn't been listening to well lately. So, now, I am taking care of me.

Sketch Twenty

This sketch is a sketch of feeling:

Night came. I fought.
No longer fight.
Close my eyes.
Complete the dark.

Sketch Ninteen

I am tremendously behind in my sketches; life is not slow for me; the hospital and my work (composition instructor) consumes me; I see the same walls too often as I sit in my office, stand in the rooms where instruction takes place, sleep in my son’s hospital room—instead of the hall now, look out the same windows daily, drive the time from hospital to home, home to hospital, hospital to work, work to hospital, make those errands between those drives, forget much of what work has to be done other than attending to my son’s emotional needs, being his support; I forget me often and others that need me as well; my hats are stretched thin; I see papers mostly, my son’s bed with him in it mostly; I know this isn’t a sketch per se, but it is the sketch of me currently; currently as I am; currently as I am and not wanting to be, attempting to fight all that eats me: My Lord Jesus Christ I pray every night falling asleep in the pray to wake in the prayer, letting that prayer take my dreams where need to be, an attempting to pray between every task that I do to allow me to find time for all others that are in need, and still find time for me. Once I was a prayer warrior, had forgotten, but this cancer—a cancer that attacks my son—has found a way to bring me back to those nightly long prayers. The me I had forgotten is returning; the me I once loved is returning; the me who knows how to fight is coming through; the demons shrug as I see more clearly, as I pray more daily; the demons know I will not run this time, I will not close myself off from God as I did before. Every night is a battle for me and a friend, for me and a family member, for me and some other I may just happen to meet. Pray; I say pray. I have found part of me again.